


Be My End

by brasspetal



Series: Be My End Verse [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark, Developing Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, Flashbacks, Flint never goes to the plantation, Longing, Lots of Angst, M/M, Madi doesn't forgive Silver, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Realization of Feelings, Self-Loathing, Slow Burn, Thomas wasn't at the plantation, Treasure Island au that is definitely not canon treasure island
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2018-12-23 01:32:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 92,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11979297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brasspetal/pseuds/brasspetal
Summary: Flint disappears from Silver's life after Skeleton Island and as does his war. This is the aftermath and new beginning of a long road to repairing the thread that still binds them.--Loosely based Treasure Island au





	1. Chaos and Order

**Author's Note:**

  * For [salatuh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/salatuh/gifts).



> I took some liberties with this because I needed to have a post-canon angsty silverflint adventure that sorta resembled something like Treasure Island. As the tags state, Thomas wasn't at the plantation and remains in the past in this story. I also want to reiterate that the Jim Hawkins in this story is older and completely different than the one from the novel. I hope you enjoy! :)
> 
> Check out this beautiful edit for this fic by @ellelan [here](http://ellelan.tumblr.com/post/166505383282/flint-disappears-from-silvers-life-after-skeleton)

**-Before -**

_The clinking rings out into the daylight, eventually echoing and drowning in the sound below of the crashing waves. Flint taps once on Silver’s shoulder which elicits a frustrated huff and they start again. The clinking becomes part of the landscape. They were part of the landscape. Their boots kick up sand and the sun kisses their shoulders. This is their evolution._

_Their breathing hushed and hurried, each matching the other with growing ease._

_“You’re still looking at my eyes. Focus.” Flint comments and Silver swings daringly forward but receives a block from Flint. He smirks before stepping back; the sword held out comfortably._

_“Again?” Flint asks._

_“Give me a minute.” Silver declares and Flint nods, accepting to it.  He sticks his sword in the sand and it sways from the force of it. The crutch is exceptionally hard to get used to. He slumps down onto the rock, letting it slip from him. Sweat collects across his exposed collarbone and the breeze is heaven._

_“Not many more of these training sessions left.” Silver prods and squints towards the sky. He can hear Flint’s boots crunching in the sand towards him._

_“You’re doing well I think,” Flint says and Silver moves his attention to the pair of eyes above him. Those pair of eyes that rooted Silver to the spot to an irritating degree._

_“But I could be better.” Silver supplies with the lift of his brow and Flint grins a little._

_“Yes, you could be but you’re a surprisingly proficient student.”_

_Silver chuckles and smiles wide this time and asks, “Surprisingly?”_

_Flint has that small impish grin still resting on his lips and they stare at each other like that, sharing smiles. There are only the ocean waves beckoning them below._

_Silver didn’t know what this was, these moments. In the comfortable silence, there’s this slow closing of distance. The warmth of such a thing sets Silver reeling and his heart tripping over rhythms it’s yet to recognize._

_Silver grabs his crutch and forces himself to stand and Flint is still watching him, curiously. As if he’s worthy of study; of memorizing. His eyes move to trace Silver’s lips and the implication is unmistakable. He’s done it before. This wasn’t anything new. If Silver is anything its aware. Always aware of how close Flint allows himself to physically be to Silver. It’s always right before the edge, right before the boundary is pressed but it stretches and bends. Yet such a thing doesn’t frighten him. It had felt like the culmination of all things fitting together like puzzle pieces. Beneath the sun, they are breathless and as content as either one of them could be in this moment._

_Flint grabs his sword from the sand and they start again without a word. This time it was almost perfect how in sync their feet shuffled._

_“Good form.” Flint complimented and Silver had to say he enjoyed the openness Flint is now granting him. He had unlocked the dreaded Captain Flint and now all he could do is smirk at him like he held the sun._

_The clinking of their swords continued for a time yet until Flint changed the pace in a flurry of movement in which Silver received another tap on his shoulder. They were exceptionally close at this angle and Silver couldn’t bring himself to be frustrated. Their chests heave in tandem and Silver waits for Flint to back down as he always does. Although, Flint wouldn’t see it that way. They are disturbingly calm, despite asserting themselves in the heat. “You need to watch your stance during the last parry,” Flint says a little too quietly. They are still close, almost a breath apart._

_“That so?” Silver asks and he can see it, that Flint is about to pull back, break away again._

_“We’ll pick this back up tomorrow.” Flint acquiesces and turns away from him towards the woods that reached the horizon. Silver lets him go as he always did, watching his retreating back with a lightheadedness not attributed to the heat from the sun._

_They’d be going into battle for Nassau soon and this moment would just be yet another memory for Silver to lock away; to pretend he didn’t visit._

\--

**\- Present -**

His mind is a deadly place to let rest in silence and the sound of the crashing waves help bring him into the present.  There are marks in the sand where he remembers their feet dragged and he can still hear the faint echo of their breathing. The sun isn't welcome on his back and the light of day left nothing to shadow.

He knows he’s imagining the clinking of the swords but it’s still there, beneath every sound. He may be the man without a history but he’s also the man without a present. He haunts this landscape daily, lamenting and creating different outcomes. These outcomes are the lies he tells himself, that he hopes will eventually become his truths. There is one fact which eviscerates and blankets false hope. The two people he cared for most in this world hated him. Could he blame them for their anger? No. No, he could not, but he also wasn’t one to back away from it either. He betrayed them and ended their war against civilization to protect them both. That is what he tells himself and it is the truth of it, but not without its dark corners. Those hidden corners that reveal the ugly selfishness of it. John Silver wasn’t a saint nor did he try to be.

He stands from the rock, grabbing his crutch and rests it beneath his arm. He keeps his eyes on the sea and recognizes the loveless relationship there. He never liked the sea and it never liked him much either. He didn’t miss those waves or being pulled into the undercurrent. He doesn't have a place in his heart for it; there isn't much room left in that chamber. What he did miss and wouldn’t admit to is the sound of the Walrus creaking like its bones stretching out into the night. Those early days of spending the morning thinking of an excuse to visit the captain’s cabin. He’s never denied that he wasn’t in it for himself back then but he’d also be lying if he didn’t recognize the pull they shared and how helpless either of them was to it. It was very much like a spell from some sea witch and it's yet to break. If he could find that witch, he’d do whatever is necessary for her to sever the connection.

He turns then and sees Madi standing in the beach weed before it meets the sand. He’s immensely surprised by it and almost topples over the edge. A fitting end to John Silver, if there is one.

There is no warmth beneath her eyes but she tries to convey a comforting calmness to him that he appreciates.

“You won’t find him here.” She says and it slices into him worse than any dagger. He was the cause of all of this, after all. “He’s why you come out here, yes?”

Silver breaks eye contact with her and concentrates on the line of thick foliage at the mouth of the horizon.

“Considering no one in camp speaks to me, I didn’t think I’d be missed.” Silver replies and he knows it’s a cheap trick, one that encourages pity but Madi had none.

“There are some that still harbor ill will for what you’ve done and they have asked for your departure.” She declares and he leans on his crutch, his heart hammering against his ribcage.

“And…you? What do you have to say about it?” Silver tries and he knows the answer will shatter the veneer of calm he’s trying to convey. She’s silent for a long time after that and he chances a glance at her. She’s watching him with quiet despondency. The pain of that silence is worse than anything she could have said. He nods once and presses his lips together which form a bitter smile. His expression twitches with the threat of collapsing into anguish. He was to be torn apart. This was his punishment.

“You needed someone to hold a tether, I held it but you don’t need one anymore, John,” Madi says, softly. He took her purpose and the promise of a new future. He’s undeserving of her kindness she gives him and would have preferred her to scream at him. He would have preferred violence from it. This… _this_ is a finality. One he thought of and should have prepared himself for.

His voice cracks and his eyes shine in that cursed sun, “And if I refuse? I promised you I’d wait and I don’t—”

Madi interrupts now with a new-found ferocity, “I don’t need promises anymore. We are beyond that which you can accept. The war was just as much mine as it was Flint’s. I sat in front of Woodes Rogers and I told him about the century of voices that still call to me. They have yet to cease and they never will. You took that from _me_. That isn’t something I can forgive. We needed to love each other to build this alliance and I think something could have been born from it, had those first promises come to fruition but not now..that flame is gone. It is not something that can be rekindled. I don’t want your promises, John. They are not mine anymore. They do not belong to me.”

He’s drowning in the maelstrom of her words, crashing and claiming his mind like a possession. Tears have now spilled down his cheeks and escape from his chin, landing in the sand. The sand where he once thought contentment was an achievable future. His voice is small and pitiable, “Where am I to go?”

She walks towards him than with her stunning strength of decency and grace. He lets the wave of it hit him and pull him under. She wraps her arms around him into an embrace. He holds her tightly, his hand bunching in the fabric of her shawl. He rests his face on her shoulder and he’s shaking from the effort. He knows she can feel it and she holds him steady. “Do something for me.” She whispers against his shoulder.

He breathes, “Anything…” He’s hardly able to articulate words.

She pulls back and studies his eyes, which are now wet and reddened. She recites, “Find _him_.”

\--

Silver lies on the small cot in the humid hut for one final night. He wept on the beach after Madi had left him. He released all of his despair on that goddamned slice of peace that mocked him. The clouds hid the sun and he was thankful for it. That cliff side deserved to be corrupted with it. He despises the little history he's built. He wants to be rid it, he wants to forget.

He stares up at the ceiling which casts shadows from the moonlight and he watches them wane. He could try to stay and have them cast him out time and time again until they grew tired of it and ended him.

_Find him._

Wouldn’t he be chasing a ghost? 

He stood from the cot and stepped outside into the unforgiving humid night air. He gathers what little strength he can muster and he screams. He screams deafeningly and tore his throat from it. His entire body burns and aches as if he has thrown himself into a fire pit.

He fucking misses him. He misses the terror, the exhilaration, the darkness and drowning in the dread. He misses James Flint more than he’s ever missed anything. It ripped him apart from the inside even if there isn't much left of him to destroy. Madi wouldn’t forgive him and who’s to say Flint wouldn’t either? At the very least he could burrow a deeper hole into Flint where he’s already wounded him. He could collapse them both. Something he couldn’t do with Madi. Madi isn’t destroyed by what happened, she is a force and an ever-burning torch. She is order.  As for him and Flint, they are torn from the separation. They are callused and scarred by it. They embody destruction. Silver has always been a lightning rod for Flint’s rage and channeled it where it was needed most.

He stood in the dark that night ready to wail more at that stubborn star-filled sky. He’s afraid. He’s afraid of what he’s about to continue and finish creating. Long John Silver felt like he could have died with Captain Flint. How many others would have rested easy in their beds hearing that? How many others would have rejoiced as if the sun had parted from the clouds? He couldn’t allow that to be. This war may have been over and he was exceptionally relieved of that fact but Captain Flint and Long John Silver are not dead. They were not meant to wilt away like this. This isn’t what he wanted. This isn’t what he was trying to attain for the three of them.  

He limps around the hut like a madman, his leg throbbing from the effort. He spoke to the shadows in his head and tore at his hair which messily rests on his shoulders.

_Find him._

Madi’s words are the seed planted in his skull. The very last seed of a dark hope that kept Silver breathing. A small flicker of light rumbles to life inside him and he watches the sunrise from this idyllic camp for the final time.


	2. Nothing But Sand

**-Before-**

**_‘I will stand here with you for an hour, a day, a year, while you find a way to accept this outcome so we might leave here together. For if not, then I must end this another way’_ **

_The downpour is heavy and unforgiving but the humidity that remains is a beast of its own. An eternity has passed and yet hardly any time at all. The silence between their breathing is another entity itself. It sticks like the heat does. It slithers down their spines from the base of their skulls. The deafening sound of the crashing rainwater doesn’t serve to hide the ruin that is their bond. Silver has the pistol resting at his side now since his hand began to shake an hour ago and Flint had noticed. He always notices Silver’s cues as if they are his own._

_Flint is watching the trees drown from the cloudburst and Silver is watching his face. The small ticks of the movement of his lips, the slight squint of his eyes when an unbidden thought rests at the forefront of his mind. He examines the dried blood caked on the side of his face and categorizes it as part of Flint. That nameless darkness and rage is there too. It rests in the canopy of the leaves and in the devastating defeat wilting Flint’s features. Such a thing will never leave them, it’s part of their bind. Their pact._

_Flint slowly sits down on the rock again, succumbing to the long wait. He’s yet to look at him for an hour at least. Silver is wordless, his thoughts don’t take to the air. They congeal in his skull and rot there._

_Day turns to night and they are soaked through. The moon brightens them like a diluted spotlight and the rain lessens enough to see the forest that traps them. Silver breathes out of his mouth, quietly. A slight shiver coursed through him and he blinks away the rainwater that collects in his eyelashes. His hair is matted down against his shoulders and uncomfortably sticks to his face and neck. Flint looks the same as he did hours ago as if he’s become a statue._

_There’s a loud buzzing in the dark and the sound of a tree branch cracking that didn’t draw either of their attention. The silence sits in the middle of them, fanning itself out like an invisible spider web. It catches any words between them before they are spoken. He can’t take his eyes off him. Not for fear of retaliation or fear of him running off into the trees. Silver can’t say why exactly but watching him keeps his knee from buckling under. The arm holding the crutch up is shaking now from the pressure. The crutch is an extra rib and it sticks out painfully into the earth._

_Flint’s eyes study every spot of the forest but him. It’s absolutely infuriating. Silver also can’t say why he needs Flint to look at him but he needs it. Flint isn’t going to give him that relief. There are no stars this night to rage at either. The black sky is a deep void reaching but never arriving. Silver moves to release some of the agony of his arm against the crutch and it didn’t abate. Flint’s eyes are studying a rock behind Silver as if he’s telling him silently to sit, but his eyes still never meet his. Silver clenches his jaw against the subtle hint and refuses by moving slightly further away. Flint’s expression gives him no indication that he cares either way._

_It’s an hour after that, that Silver is shivering openly. He tried to quell it earlier but his body protested. He didn’t really know why he’s cold because the humidity is still suffocating. It feels as though the rain is reaching into his pores and stealing the warmth to give it to the night. Flint moves slightly and folds his arms together. It’s evident he feels the odd chill of it too._

_Silver feels exhaustion creep up; the bone dead tired he hasn’t felt in some time. He blinks his eyes open and shivers. Water claims every part of him. From the moonlight, he can see that Flint appears to have his eyes closed but he isn’t sleeping._

_The pistol slips from him, from the rain wetting his fingers and he bends down eliciting a painful grunt. He grabs it and looks back to Flint who didn’t even bother to open his eyes from the small noise. There’s something far off in the background shrieking like a lonely bird and nothing ever calls back. Silver wants to scream. He can break the silence right then. Would Flint even flinch? He suspects he’d just sit there, huddled with his eyes closed as if he didn’t hear any goddamn thing at all._

_Silver had expected rage and he had expected a fight but this is different. This is the calm dread of defeat. Defeat of who exactly? Silver hasn’t figured that out yet. The longer they remain there, the further apart they grow and Silver can see the divide forming like an unending chasm. Silver knows this standoff can’t sustain itself for long and one of them will have to give in before it kills them both._

_Morning comes when Silver falls to the wet grass. He thuds there, like a rock, and pants with heavy breath but barely a sound other than that. It’s his turn not to look at Flint as he forces himself up from the mud, balancing his crutch, and then to his bodies dismay, standing again._

_When he looks to the rock, his heart leaps. Flint isn’t there any longer. He turns to the left clearing and catches sight of Flint’s back disappearing into the trees. Silver quickly hobbles forward with a new-found strength; gun still gripped in his aching hand. He spots him again with his back retreating through the green and Silver holds up the pistol on a breath as his handshakes._

_“Stop!” Silver yells and birds scatter. The sound is foreign to his ears, it shatters the false calm they are perpetuating between them. Flint just stands there, stalk-still. His back remains to him._

_“Where the fuck are you going?” Silver demands and his voice sounds hollow; weak._

_Flint speaks so softly at first that Silver can’t understand what he’s saying. It’s like he’s talking to the forest more than to him._

_“Face me, goddammit.” Silver supplies, bitterly. To his surprise Flint slowly turns and faces him, the eye contact sets him off balance in a way he didn’t expect. One look could claim him, rip him apart and remold him. It’s unnatural and he despises it. Flint is looking at him darkly from beneath his eyelashes. He looks feral as if he presides over this forest. Silver keeps the pistol pointed at him and his bones ache from the effort of it._

_Flint repeats what Silver couldn’t hear, louder and like a lash to his back, “Finish it.”_

_He’s challenging Silver to shoot him, to end everything.  Silver feels vulnerable and eviscerated to that dark stare._

_“Don’t make me do this.” Silver pleads and it sounds pathetic. He wishes he could reform his words again but they’ve already left his throat._

_“You can’t do it, can you?” Flint squints at him with a viciousness to his words, “Even now, after everything, you still can’t do the hard thing.”_

_The words are venom and Silver traps them in his skull but he knows in those deep dark places of his mind that Flint’s self-destruction is a cruel manipulator._

_Silver also knows, that pulling this trigger is an impossibility._

_\--_

**-Present-**

The campfire crackles and spits embers into the night air. It’s just Silver and the darkness sharing the flames between them. He raises his flask of rum to it and drinks. It reminds him of the conversation they had once long ago and he tosses a stick into the fire. The flames lash out at him and he shuts his eyes against the heat of it.

_‘I wouldn’t worry too much’_

That voice worms its way through his head like a parasite. There are only two voices that reside there, after all, and Madi’s has grown silent. How could he have failed them so irrevocably?

Silver speaks aloud to the darkness, “You are my end as much as I am yours. How the fuck did I think it would be any different than anything else we shared?” It’s as if he expects Flint to suddenly manifest out of the dark like the tempest he is. To Silver’s grief, there is only silence as an answer. He lies down in the leaves and dirt, facing away from the fire, lest it creates too many shapes. John Silver doesn’t dream nor does he sleep. He lies awake; eyes unfocused towards creeping shadows.

There’s a ship that now irregularly brings supplies to the Maroon camp called The Fray. He spotted the vessel on his trip back towards the shore and plans to hail it in the morning.

\--

When the sun graces the horizon, Silver stands and shakes leaves out of his tangled hair. He ties it back loosely from his sweaty neck and limps down the overgrown path to the wide-open shore below him. There aren’t many clouds that dot the blue sky and the backdrop against the mouth of the mountains always makes for a peaceful sight.  He stands where he once stood the first time he saw it; starved and with a fever from infection. He had looked on those mountains with a clear hope then but now they are the painting hanging crooked on the wall; a painting he will never be able to step into again. It’s another image to lock away.

He’s drowning so thoroughly in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the man that approaches him.

“Mr. Silver?” The familiar voice inquires behind him.

He startles and turns to face him while leaning heavily on his crutch. The bright blue-eyed Ben Gunn is staring back at him meekly.

“Jesus…what are you doing here? You came from The Fray?” Silver asks and he didn’t need to, it’s an obvious answer but one that gages the atmosphere nonetheless.

“Yes, comin’ to see you but I didn’t expect to find you here. Why aren’t you at the camp?” Ben keeps his eyes focused on Silver’s face. He’s always been one of the few men that didn’t stare at his crutch.

Silver gives him a small smile because it’s all he can muster and dances around the question, “I figured I’d head to Port Royal and just see what I see from there.”

“Ah..” Ben begins and Silver knows he senses the tension that looms over them. “You ‘eard then? Was comin’ here to speak with you on it.”

Silver blanches and shifts his weight. The sun radiates an uncomfortable heat across his shoulders and makes him feel dizzyingly empty. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ben.”

Ben’s eyes widen slightly and he shakes his head. His kind features twisting. “It’s Billy Bones. I spotted him in a tavern in Port Royal. The man is half-mad from being marooned and I over ‘eard him ravin’ about Captain Flint and his cache.”

Silver keeps his face the picture of calm but the sound of Flint’s name cast out into the air between them left a mark. He wants to say that Billy had already lost his sanity but he imagines being alone on Skeleton Island didn’t do him any favors in that regard. “What was Billy saying exactly?” Silver prods.

Ben hesitates, noticing the change in Silver’s demeanor and says, “That Captain Flint is alive and is gatherin’ a crew in secret to go back for his cache.”

Silver’s entire body is numb and he’s chilled as if his fever is back from long ago. He knows it could very well be Billy’s bullshit. He could be spreading those rumors to draw either of them out of hiding.

Silver snaps, “That’s fucking madness. I suspect Billy has nothing to back his claim?”

Ben shrugs, “Didn’t stay in the tavern long enough to know but since you’re headin’ that way, I’d suggest finding out.”

Silver requests, coolly, “Can The Fray take on another passenger then?”

\--

The maroon island is a large gaping paradise that quickly escapes Silver’s vision and he thinks on Madi. He thinks on all things he’ll never say. He mourns the loss of it in the quiet slump of his shoulders, daring not to let a tear be spilled over its disappearance from his life. Silver has let go of things before. This is routine. Pain is an excellent tutor, after all.

The Fray is an unimpressive vessel but it didn’t need to be. It’s clearly meant for hoarding passengers and food across short distances of open water. Silver spots the weaknesses easily and by that, he means the crew itself. The captain is a drunkard, even though he pretends not to indulge in it. All it takes is speaking with the man to smell his rancid breath laced with rum. Silver thinks it’s quite possible to take the entirety of this ship hostage himself.

Some of the other crew eye him suspiciously, more so than just because of his missing leg. It’s possible that it’s recognition from a rumor, one they aren’t sure about but gawk openly at him nonetheless. He hasn’t taken to hiding himself away. Not because of his pride, fuck pride. He’s a survivor above all. It’s because he just didn’t much care and maybe that made him reckless.  Silver can’t bring himself to care about that either.

He makes himself scarce among the men and doesn’t invite conversation like the Silver of years past. He could draw attention to himself and become the storyteller again for old times’ sake but what’s the point in that? He sleeps on his cot with the group of nameless men and doesn’t give them any relief from their quiet unsure fear of him.

Ben sits with him while they have their meal and they eat quietly for a while.  Silver is grateful that Ben doesn’t bother him or even stare at him to coax out unwanted conversation. It’s oddly comfortable.

Eventually, when they both have finished eating and before Ben gets up from the table, Silver asks, “We’re stopping in Nassau, I’m guessing, before the rest of the journey?”

“For a night only. You don’t have to depart from the ship if you don’t wish to, Mr. Silver.” Ben says kindly before he stands and leaves him to his thoughts.

As the ship grows closer to that accursed place, the more he tries to convince himself that he didn’t want to see it. That he didn’t want to sneak off and experience the wretched sights again as if he’s just John Silver the thieving cook. It’d be easy to pretend the past didn’t exist but he knows once he catches his reflection in that clear water, he’d see it written on his face. Their Nassau died a long time ago and Silver would just be paying his respects to the sand.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot planned for this story and I hope you enjoy the journey. Thank you :)


	3. To Begin Again

The Nassau of old used to be a feral creature at night. There’d be wild bonfires and the sound of sword against flesh. There’d be drunken drownings and dogged cutpurses. It was an untamed hideous carnival. The orphans, the outcasts, the deranged all housed their torments and delights here. They all fought and died for it. He didn’t need to see a dead thing, he didn’t need to know the shape of it after it’s decayed but he wants to all the same. He pretends to not have an affinity for that horror but deep down and locked away like most things, he did.

“Last call for those goin’ ashore!” The voice rings.

Silver clenches his jaw and abandons his better judgment.  He isn’t going to walk ashore as Long John Silver, however. He grabs a moth-eaten shawl that rests abandoned by a pile of ropes and throws it over himself. He’ll play the beggar with one leg and Nassau will remain quiet to his presence. He’s been curious how Rackham would attempt to bring a dead thing back to life.

He didn’t think of the exhilarated terror that claimed him when they conquered this place for such a short breath of time. He didn’t think about it when he steps into the boat that will row him ashore or when the sight of The Fray shadows itself over him. Those places in the spaces of his skull belong to someone else. Residing in this dark age that presents itself now, he concentrates on the rocking of the row boat below his feet. He didn’t think of two starving men, with their misplaced hope over a rotten whale carcass. He didn’t wonder if those two men are still out there, left at the sea.

The boat knocks against the dock, which has been smoothed and rebuilt. His boot and crutch tap between those new boards as if he can poke holes in them. He wants to poke holes in this place and see what hides beneath. The beach is quiet, eerily so. There are a few lights burning in the town ahead but the wild untamed Nassau sits obediently silent. His throat constricts and he hates himself a little more for it.

Why exactly was he here again? Even the ghosts have left.

He leans on his crutch in front of the tavern which burns the brightest amongst the dark. The shawl is still wrapped over his dirty hair and it shadows his face. He looks almost too weathered for this place now but his presence didn’t seem to draw many lengthy looks. He’s just a homeless relic to them, to a past that’s slowly fading. Civilization won, no matter how much Flint wailed and cursed it.

“The fuck are you sayin’?” Anne Bonny’s voice billows out from the top floor window.

“For god's sake, you cannot blame me for inquiring about it,” Rackhman adds in a muffled shrill tone.

“Thought we was done with it, Jack. Thought we was fucking done.”

The door slams and rattles the entirety of the upstairs balcony. The storm that is Anne Bonny flies out of the tavern door, gripping the hilts at her belt.  She looks through him with a dark fury and marches forward. Silver isn’t about to follow her, he knows he’d just end up with a slashed throat for his effort. Their quarrels are volatile; lethal things to behold. Something the Captain and Silver never lacked either. Silver leans his foot forward and remembers the single shot ringing out as Dooley fell into the mud. He presses his lips into a thin line and thinks his mind has resolved to torment him.

He steps inside the tavern which now looks the picture of cleanliness. He’s thankful no one draws their attention to him and he softly limps on his crutch along the wall that lends itself to the shadows. Not many people sat drunk inside it. Those that do, appear to be catatonic masses of flesh, with hardly any will to move.

The bartender catches his attention with disinterest, “No sleeping in here unless you pay.”

It draws a few eyes to his direction but no recognition is placed. He dawdles a few moments beside the stairs before he discreetly makes his way up them. He’s gained a proficiency in stair climbing with a crutch but no one’s around to applaud his efforts. In the room that used to be Eleanor Guthrie’s meeting lounge is an oak specialty carved table with extravagant matching chairs. Jack stood with his back to the stairs, holding a goblet as if he’s about to monologue to the moonlight beyond the window. Silver hobbles his way over to one of the fancy chairs and pulls it out, scratching it against the wood.

“No drunken seamen allowed up in the loft, thank _you_.”  Jack supplies but keeps his back to him. Silver removes the shawl from his head and sets his crutch on the table in front of him with a small grunt.

“Did you not hear—” Jack begins again but stops when he turns to face Silver, the liquor in his goblet sloshes about with the abrupt movement. “Holy hell…”

Silver gives him a patented grin and leans back comfortably in the stiff chair. Jack sneers in growing discontent, “Why the fuck are you here? Please do not tell me that you’ve come seeking some sort of recompense because you’ve grown bored prattling with Maroons?”

Silver chuckles and moves his crutch so it lines up with the flawless tabletop. “I see the carcass of Nassau is treating you well.”

Jack speaks quickly, his words always flowing in a jumble of delirium, “Oh, Nassau never died, Mr. Silver. She’s just dormant but I swear to god if you don’t deign me the privilege of your reason for visiting I will have you thrown out. We made a _dea_ l. Please do tell me that meant something.”

Silver lets him stew in his ever-growing panic for a few moments before he taps his fingers lightly on his crutch and gives him his full attention. “I’ve not come to claim anything of this place.” Jack visibly deflates with relief and slumps down into one of their pretty chairs.  He slams the goblet on the table and it vibrates through Silver’s fingers.

Silver continues in a delighted tone, “I was paying my respects and I overheard the most curious lovers quarrel.”

Jack’s shoulders tense again and he crosses his leg while gulping down what’s left of his drink. “What exactly did you hear, hm?”

“You see, I _think_ you were inquiring about the cache and you heard the same fucking madness that I heard and I thought that asking for your take on the whole mess might not be a bad place to start.”

Jack taps his glass on a sigh, “Billy Bones.”

Silver smiles darkly and answers with a simple, “Yes.”

“If you wish to bash his head in, he resides in Port Royal, do not let me stand in your way.” Jack waves his hand towards the exit.

Silver adds, “He’s been spreading rumors about Captain Flint. Rumors that claim that Flint is gathering a crew and is going to take back his cache.”

Jack’s laugh is a low rumble and he rolls his eyes in an exaggerated manor, “Speaking on lover’s quarrels, Is that why Long John Silver graces me with his doleful presence?

Silver’s smile disappears from his face and Jack blanches from the sudden withdrawal of false pleasantries. He leans forward, his hair brushing his crutch. “Listen to me, Rackham. I know you’re withholding. I suggest for your sake you glean any information you’ve gathered. After which I will leave this fucking tomb and you to your Nassau.”

Jack twists his glass against the table and quirks a brow in thought before replying, “I had heard… from reputable sources mind you, that there is an expedition being planned but not by a pirate. By a citizen that has taken an interest in Billy’s ravings but that is all I know I’m afraid. I do not know a thing about Captain Flint’s whereabouts and I would hazard a guess that is what you want most of all. Call it just a guess.” Jack scrunches up his nose at him with sarcasm and Silver leans back from the table, breaking eye contact.

“Nothing else has been said about this interested third party?” Silver questions and Jack looks to the ceiling for all his answers. “He’s a doctor…I think…I’m fairly certain. Lives…liveston? No. Livesey. Something or other. Should make for an easy mark for you either way.”

The atmosphere downstairs remains quiet and that silence, like a living thing, climbs its way up to them. He didn’t understand how Jack could stand it here anymore.

“What of you, Rackham?” Silver’s smile is slowly growing on his face again and Jack gives him a smirk at the return of it.

“My days of chasing misfortune are at an end but you go right ahead. Give it my best.” Jack replies and begins to mourn his empty glass.

Silver stands from the table, scratching the chair purposefully against the floor again and slowly grabs his crutch to slip under his arm. He looks at Jack with hooded eyes and the smallest of smiles, “Maybe you’ll be lucky enough to hear of my hanging in the paper.”

Jack stands up quick, his coat swooping around him in search of something else to fill his glass. His muffled words follow after him, “And I will raucously toast to you and pretend we were the closest of confidants. Regardless, you’ve earned your place in history, Long John Silver!”

\--

Silver’s walk back to the docks is a discontented, albeit, leisurely one. He sees Anne Bonny begrudgingly return to the tavern with rage still resting on her shoulders and he wonders for a moment where Max resides. He guesses she is still making Eleanor Guthrie's old office home but to Silver, it's another tomb. When he spots the first spark of light gracing the sky he heads for the water. He feels as though he’s carrying a hundred histories, all wrapped up inside of him like jungle vines. The weight of it is insurmountable and yet he limps onward heavyhearted.

Ben is waiting for him at the dock and Silver removes the shawl from his head. He looks apprehensive but relieved to see him.  

“They wanted to leave without ya but I told them to wait longer. Wasn’t sure you’d be back.” Ben states and looks back at the skiff filled with disgruntled crewmen.

“Thank you, Ben. I’ve had my fill of Nassau for many lifetimes.” Silver replies and they head down the dock, back towards The Fray.

Silver doesn’t look at Nassau again as they disembark. He leans over the side but with his back to it as if it’s an old spiteful lover. Ben hesitantly joins him but politely remains a distance apart in case Silver didn’t want the company. Silver turns to him and moves his crutch to lean against the side.

“Would you consider helping me with this endeavor? You’d be compensated for your efforts.” Silver asks and Ben glances his way with interest. The sea air whisps Silver’s hair messily over his face; staking its claim to him.

“I would be honored to help, Mr. Silver. I’ve been a bit aimless since everyone scattered.” Ben answers truthfully. Silver gives him a brief genuine smile and the honest stretch of his lips feels foreign to him. “Good to hear it.”

\--

Silver stood in the bowels of the ship, staring at himself in a grim covered mirror. The ship rocks roughly as they enter a small rainstorm. He didn’t flinch when a pile of barrels fall and rumble around behind him. It’s the worst possible time to attempt it but Silver takes his slice of reckless abandon when he can. He saws at his unruly beard with a dagger as a madman would and grunts at the hideous effort. The ship splutters and a small amount of water reaches his feet as he grips the razor to begin properly shaving. He waits for the rocking to lull for a moment and runs the dulled razor along his chin; lathered in old shaving cream. His blue eyes follow the line of his throat and he holds the blade where his neck meets his jawline. He waits silently for the ship to jerk and the blood to pool but it didn’t happen. He’s challenging the storm in his own mild way, the way that Flint would. The realization of it is what makes him nick himself. He wipes away the spot of blood and stares at that half shaven face of his. Two Silver’s stare back but they both had pieces of James Flint left in them like shards of glass. He wants to destroy the mirror then, the evidence of it is as plain as anything. The evidence of him and what he's taken, what he's shaped in him. There’s a small crash and he knows the incompetent crew of The Fray didn’t tie their cargo down properly. He blinks at the reflection before continuing and scratching through the surface to the old Silver underneath. He didn’t plan on cutting his hair but losing the beard would be enough to hide Long John Silver for just a little while.

He finishes and wipes his face with a threadbare towel. He smiles wide in the mirror before him, his eyes lighting up with it “My name is John Silver and I happen to be a shitty fucking cook.”

He ties his hair in a loose bun behind him and grips the crutch tightly to stand. The storm didn’t seem to deem it necessary to lessen and it's more of an irritation than anything when he tries to make his way to his cot.

 _This_. This felt like the beginning of something again. He’d be lying if the prospect didn’t excite him and aggravate him all at once but he knows there is no starting over. He can’t let himself be fooled into a false sense of adventure but that didn’t stop him from shutting his eyes that night and pretending it’s the Walrus rocking him to sleep. It didn’t stop him from pretending they had just embarked on the journey for the Urca De Lima and anything beneath _that_ weather-beaten dreaded banner was possible.


	4. The Hispaniola

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a minor character death in it but if you know about or have read Treasure Island you shouldn't be too surprised. I hope you enjoy :)

The waves below curl white as The Fray slices through them. Silver stands overlooking the sea with the unforgiving sun above him. There’s isn’t a cloud in the sky to hide its scorching touch from his skin and it’s unrelenting. He has his crutch resting in front of him with both of his palms leisurely on top of it. Some days the crutch feels less like a burden and more like an extended part of him. It’s something that could make any man visible and vulnerable but not him. It only serves to add to his shadow.

The crew still skirts around him and eye him from afar. They’d scurry away like mice when he’d turn to face them or make any move to head in their direction. He knows they’ve asked Ben numerous times about him, but Ben being the polite pirate he is, never remarked on it. Silver let their suspicions fester on the journey and it’s been an interesting experiment albeit a pointless one.

The hook of land that is Port Royal looms in the distance like a deadly promise. The port has grown exponentially since he’s been here. He observes ships coming and going of many sizes, either headed to Kingston or somewhere beyond the horizon line.  He imagines their strict laws against piracy hasn’t grown anymore lenient. Gallows Point is most likely crowded with swinging thieves like him. He can’t be careless like he has been on The Fray. He can’t let doubt fester in Port Royal, otherwise, he’d be hanged in a fortnight if that’s the case.

“Are we to seek Billy out when we dock, Mr. Silver?” Ben asks from behind him and he pivots, moving his crutch to face him.

“What was the name of the tavern you saw him in?”

“The Spy-Glass, it has a wooden carved sign with a man peerin’ through a glass out front of it.” Ben answers and blinks at him before Silver nods silently.

He can feel the irrevocable familiar tug of something like yarn tied to his ribs. It guides him towards the maw of Port Royal as if such a thing is inescapable. Did that mean what he hoped it meant? That Flint is here too, beneath it all.

\--

The docks in Port Royal are swarming with all manner of folk. The penniless reach out to passersby in the hopes of being granted a reprieve and finding none. Civilization has clawed its way through to the heart of this place. The deformity of it is gone and in its stead, lies a falsehood. He grips his crutch until his fingers go numb against the onslaught of the ever-changing tide.  

“You alright, Mr. Silver? It’s this way.” Ben breaks apart his ruminations and the sound comes rushing back in. His limbs feel shaky and disconnected as if his bones crawled out of his skin. He limps forward and presses his lips into a thin line. The old Silver isn’t going to come easy and neither will his smiles. Clean shaven or no, that Silver is a blurred image he’ll never properly attain again. The thought of it, exhausts him.

Ben points to the wooden sign, squeaking in the wind, that reads: The Spy-Glass. It didn’t look like much but most taverns appear abandoned in the daylight when there aren’t rowdy guests accommodating them.  

“We’ll wait until nightfall since I imagine that’s when good ol’ Billy likes to make his home here.” Silver adds and turns towards the end of the alleyway that opens wide to a sea of market stands. Ben walks ahead a ways and Silver slowly observes the crowd mostly oblivious to his presence. He buys an apple from a man who just grunts irritably at the exchange as if Silver’s business inconvenienced him. He moves towards an empty short block wall and pushes himself up on the short ledge to sit, which relieves the pressure from his arm.  He tosses the apple once and bites into it. He chews while watching the bustle grow loud and then slowly taper off to a trickle. The sun hung low in the sky, sending out brilliant tendrils of yellow as it fast falls into early evening. He imagines Flint walking amongst these people here and mourning the loss of the war that Silver deprived him of. He imagines that Flint went on a stroll to Gallows Point, where he collected more of his rage to pent up and put away. Silver ignored the unwelcome thought that he hopes some of that rage is meant for him. That Flint had stored it especially for him, in the hopes that one day they’d cross paths again.

“ _Long_ John Silver.” Comes the slow familiar voice and he blanches quietly, turning towards it.

The scarred red-bearded man stared back at him with a harsh squint. “What in the fuck are you doin’ here?” He continues.

“I suspect that you and I are here for the same reason, Israel.” Silver says and hops off the wall, moving his crutch snuggly beneath his arm.

“Flint. Always Flint with you.” He grumpily replies but there’s a bit of affection there. Silver likes to think that one of his talents is to tame beasts of men.

“I was going to say Billy, but that would be more accurate. What have you heard?” Silver asks and feigns a neutral coldness that didn’t fool Israel Hands.

“Billy raves about Long John Silver like a scorned lover. He raves about Captain Flint bein’ alive and here, walkin’ amongst the common folk. I thought to put Billy out of his misery until I saw Flint myself.”

The false stoicism didn’t hold up to those simple words. Silver tries to school his face but the hammering of his heart makes his voice breathy, “Where did you see him?”

“Gallows Point looked like one of ‘em.” Israel nods his head towards the small group of shuffling gentlemen. “Fancy arseholes. In disguise.”

Silver’s eyes find the cobblestone below their feet and he asks, “That was the only time you saw him?”

There’s a quiet moment that leaves the awkward tone of the question hanging in the air for far longer than Silver would like. Israel shakes his head at him as he makes eye contact again. “The world’s gone quiet since the two of you separated. How many men was it that died because of your quarrel?”

Silver knew Hands didn’t give a shit about the men that died, it’s more about getting under Silver’s skin as it always has been. Hands enjoys bringing ‘Long John Silver’ to light. Silver smirks at him and there’s a hint of amusement in Hand’s eyes even if his features remain apathetic.

“I need to pay a visit to Billy.” Silver says and turns on his crutch towards the fading dusk.

“Send him a Black Spot. Get him riled up and when he leaves, follow but I ain’t gonna end him for ya, that’s your doin’.” Israel rasps and Silver lifts a brow considering.

\--

The starless night in Port Royal is filled with drunken shouts and stumbling footsteps. The citizens of the port are all aimless and fleeting. Their faces blend together, one after the other. Silver avoids the main square and stands in a darkened alley with only rats for company.  He leans against the brick and closes his eyes to blend in with the dark.

Silver has grown to despise that goddamn cache and Flint is back to claim it once again, after everything. His fury takes root inside him like a new seedling and he knows it will wane once he sees him. They’ll evolve in that moment unpredictably to something twisted and unchangeable. His heart will betray him as it always has with Captain Flint.

He can hear the scratching sound of footsteps drawing nearer to him but he doesn’t bother to open his eyes. Not even when the soft sound stops in front of him as if they are waiting for permission to speak.  When none is granted, Ben says, “He seemed happy to receive the Black Spot. He left pissed and stumblin’ towards the bluffs. Mr. Hands is followin’.”

“I’m glad we could give him some purpose in his life.” Silver deadpans and limps towards the exit of the alleyway.

The bluffs themselves aren’t far from the port and are a group of dark hazardous cliffs, made for the inebriated to fall from. Silver imagines the bodies collecting at the bottom like grains of sand.

There, towards the edge, is Mr. Hands and Billy exchanging quiet tense conversation. The dark of the night makes the cliff edge blend with the sea. Billy follows Hands’ eyeline to Silver who maneuvers through the sand with proficiency.

Billy stumbles towards him and falls unceremoniously to the ground. Silver’s crutch sticks into the sand a small space from his hand. Billy struggles for a moment and looks up at him as if he’s staring into the abyss. “I made you. Dreamt you up from nothing.” He greets. There are fresh scars on his cheek and a bruise across his jaw. He looks broken, weathered, beaten. He had been the unstable tether once between him and Flint before Madi took over that position. Now, it’s cut loose for the sea air to claim it.

Silver watches him struggle to stand. He keeps his eyes locked on Silver’s with that same expression of dread and rage. “You took everything.” Billy pathetically claims.

Silver sighs, “I didn’t take anything from you, Billy. I never asked to be your king nor did I want such a title at the time. That’s all I’ll say on this.”

Billy’s eyes widen with wild delirium, “You saw him then? Flint? He’s come to take back his cache.”

Silver eyes the darkness beyond the cliff as if what lies beyond is just a pit. “Do you know where he is?”

“He saw me speaking with Dr. Livesey..” Billy moves closer and Silver blinks against the heavy scent of rum. “..now Dr. Livesey won’t allow me on his crew, even though _I’m_ the one that gave him the fucking map.”

“Why the fuck would you even want to go back there, Billy?” Silver questions and Billy closes his eyes, swaying. For a moment Silver thinks he’s going to pass out but he blinks awake again.

“Because we’re extinct,”  Billy states plainly. “There’s nothing for us here. Not anymore.” Silver watches Billy’s face contort into a manic smile before it eventually falls from his face when another thought lays claim to him. 

“You think Flint influenced Dr. Livesey?” Silver pushes, afraid Billy will lose track in his madness.

Billy says nothing and blinks at him, swaying as if he’s trying to ascertain if Silver is imagined or not.

Silver snaps his fingers, loudly, “..Billy. Focus.” 

“There’s nothing,” Billy says and he looks at Silver with raw disconnected grief.

“Is Flint manipulating Dr. Livesey?” Silver repeats and he didn’t need to ask, he knew the truth of it already.

Billy’s eyes are wet from swimming in the past, when he replies, “We’re all dead.”  

“Jesus Billy…yes, we are all dead.” Silver agrees coldly, even if the words left splinters under his skin. Too many things to count, too many things to own. He can’t keep track of it all.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen, can’t you see?” Billy prods and stumbles backward. Silver squints at him with a bitter smile, “Did you really expect to be princes of the new world?”  

“Too many storms. You won’t take me.” Billy says continuing to back away from him. Silver moves his crutch forward to make up the distance being created. It’s as if Billy thinks Silver is death itself come to take him home and in a way, he is. The battle to keep Billy on track is officially lost but he persists.

“I’ve no need to harm you, as long as you corporate.” Silver lies and tries to attain some form of gentleness in his demeanor. “I just want to know about Dr. Livesey and where I can find him.”

Billy’s eyes glisten, maddeningly wide, “The two of you would burn the world just to destroy each other. I’m not going to watch that happen. I’m done being a witness to it.”

“Billy…” Silver warns, darkly.

Before any of them can react, Billy turns towards the crumbling dark cliff that led to that pit and he lets himself fall into it. Silver releases a surprised curse and limps quickly to lean over the ledge. He uses the crutch to keep him from falling forward into that abyss himself. The pitch doesn’t grant him a view of Billy’s end but he knows by the light of day Port Royal would fish him out of the sand. He’d be another faceless drunk without a story.

Silver stood stalk-still, keeping his eyes on that abyss below. His chest heaves and twists into something ugly. He feels as though Billy took a small piece of him with him over that cliff edge without his permission and he’s reeling from the wound of it.

_‘We’re all dead’_

Billy’s words ring out and echo around him even as he begins his walk back to the skeleton of Port Royal.

\--

“If I’d have known—“ Ben begins and Silver holds up his hand before pinching the bridge of his nose. His head is a heavy weight on his shoulders. He’s sitting at an empty wooden eroded table outside of the Spy-Glass tavern.

“Another loose end tied up,” Israel comments and crosses his arms, leaning on a post.

“We need to find Dr. Livesey.” Silver harshly replies and the clearing of a throat interrupts them. They all turn towards an older woman with a white bonnet and a basket of flowers. She observes them suspiciously.

“Dr. Livesey is down by the docks. They say he’s planning a great adventure. Is that why you seek him?” She asks, expectantly and Silver smiles at her friendly as if a candle has been lit. “Yes, as a matter of fact, it is.” Her suspicions drain away in the wake of it, as she returns the grin before making her leave.

The sun is too bright above him and makes his eyes ache from the cheery presence of daylight. He observes his reflection in a nearby store window and takes off his coat. He snatches an apron that’s been hanging out to dry and ties it around his waist for good measure. He smiles just wide enough to appear amenable and he can see the old Silver looking back at him in the fractal light.

He makes his way through the crowd, maintaining that easy smile as he nods at the folk that passes him by. ‘Good day, sir’ ‘Good day, ma’am’ thrown around like flower petals. He scans the docks for anything out of the ordinary and stops a worker who’s stocking one of the fish market stands.

“Excuse me, sir? Do you know where I might find Dr. Livesey?”

The man stands and scrunches his face up in thought before he points in the direction of a small but expensive ship, docked in the port. “He’s gatherin’ a crew for the Hispaniola.” Silver nods politely before heading in the direction of the well-maintained vessel that appeared to have rarely spent time at sea. It didn’t have the usual weathered wood or wind-beaten sails he’s used to.

He spots a portly man with short dark hair, who appears exasperated. His cheeks are flushed as he orders men carrying a load of boxes, “Be careful with that please!”

Silver slowly approaches him as a fox would a rabbit. “Dr. Livesey, is it?”

The man turns to him studying him for a moment before looking back at his ship, “Uh..yes…what is it?”

“I had heard of your endeavor and was wondering if you are in need of a cook on your crew?” Silver asks and smiles wide. The gesture is a rusty one but it’s not as if Dr. Livesey knows that. Dr. Livesey turns his full attention on him this time, looking him over as if he’s a specimen to be examined. A slow smile forms on Livesey’s face and Silver quirks a brow of amusement. Dr. Livesey says, bluntly, “You have a pleasant face, clean hands, you look as though you can handle yourself. Where are you employed?”

“Thank you, sir. The Spy-glass currently.” Silver lies, pointing behind him in the general direction of it.

“Why don’t I come by tonight then and sample something of yours? I can decide then.” Dr. Livesey asserts; now the picture of friendly. The rapt fascination that he maintains for Silver is curious. This would be easier than Silver had planned, he’d just need to find a way to pose as a cook for the Spy-glass.

“Of course. I’m Solomon Little by the way.” Silver nods and holds out his hand. They shake politely, and Dr. Livesey smiles all teeth. “It’s good to meet you Mr. Little.”

“Please, call me Solomon.” Silver replies and that earns him another wide smile. “Who’s to captain the ship might I ask?” He continues, maintaining the cheeriness like second nature.

“Ah, yes…He’s a sailing master! Captain Barlow.” Dr. Livesey replies and Silver catches his grin before it falters. The name sets him off kilter and his mind swirls into a maelstrom.

“Captain Barlow, you say?” Silver repeats and Dr. Livesey nods with unabashed excitement.


	5. Know Its Presence Well

James Flint learned to make use of his rage. He used his fury as a pen to scratch into the markers of history, until the surface was unrecognizable. He was going to carve into civilization like a dagger. He had so many hopes consenting only to the world scarred and changed. It would have been something to bask in, after the blood and horror. When has there ever not been wailing? Instead, he let someone crawl into his skull and steal that future from them, to lock away forever. That someone still resides there, inside that tomb of his mind.

_‘Don’t make me do this.’_

Silver had been genuine. He truly didn’t want to kill Flint but Flint couldn’t see a world in which he let them win. He didn’t want to be a part of that world any longer. He needed John Silver to fire that pistol more than anything else in the world and he didn’t do it. The one thing, the ultimate thing, that would have made sense. A captain to go down with his ship. Not only did he have that dream taken from him but the fiend that took it couldn’t even finish the job. My god, he wanted to hate him. He wanted to _want_ to tear him apart and some days he thinks he should have. That moment in the forest is burned onto the back of his eyelids like some wretched scar.

“Captain Barlow.” The irritating voice interrupts.

Flint turns to see Dr. Livesey looking at him with a curt smile, his hands clasped behind his back. Flint can’t stand the man. He’s often chipper and his shrill yelling often provokes Flint into thinking of fantasies of throwing him into the sea.

“What is it?” Flint asks and he doesn’t feign much kindness, there’s no need to.

“I may have found a cook but I am still in need of a boson.” Dr. Livesey provides and Flint really didn't give a damn.

“I see. I’m sure you will solve the impediment, Dr. Livesey.” Flint replies.

To Flint’s dismay, Dr. Livesey doesn’t leave. He teeters on his shoes as if he’s figuring out what to say next. It’s clear that the doctor is intimidated by him, which will work subsequently in his favor in the long run.

“How do you fair with Mr. Arrow?” Dr. Livesey attempts and squints at him as if he’s expecting to be shouted at.

Mr. Arrow is the quartermaster and an arrogant bastard not prone to follow direction. Flint hates him and to be honest, he hates them all. They all have this idea that there is peace at end of this long rope. How long had he tried to convince himself of this? He now had to rely on his own legend to guide him back to the place where he once belonged. Where things made sense and had meaning.

“Mr. Arrow doesn’t follow directions.” Flint comments and Dr. Livesey clears his throat while he looks around in case Mr. Arrow is eavesdropping.

“We’ve worked together for some time, perhaps I could speak to him about it?” Dr. Livesey asks and Flint’s lips break out into a bitter smile.

“You do what you think you have to, Doctor.” Flint replies and heads for the captain’s cabin before Livesey pesters him further.

The captain’s quarters on the Hispaniola are more extravagant than he’s used to. The shelves are filled with expensive editions of pristine books and even small carved trinkets of ships long dead in the sea, sit collecting dust. He sneers at an elaborate bust of the missing ship The Griffin, facing his desk. It’d be fitting to drop it into the sea, along with any other baubles. The books, however, can stay.

He wants the Walrus back but you can’t bring a dead thing back to life. He taps his fingers lightly on the quality wood of the desk, before tracing them over the chair that awaited him. The captain’s cabin in the Walrus was much bigger, even if it lacked any proper tacky design. He surmises that was part of the appeal. The captain's log sits in front of the chair, the spine barely cracked. The parchment is a little frayed on the ends and he did not think of torn pages. He did not run his finger along the grooves of it.

He steps back from the desk on a breath and catches his reflection in the glass of the bright window. His hair has grown back enough to sweep the tops of his forehead and his beard remains intact. If he squints he can almost see the man from years past, assigned to a brand-new crew from the port of Nassau.

Perhaps escaping into the quiet of the captain’s cabin wasn’t a good idea on his part after all. He can’t stand it in here. The entire room is suffocating. He tears the bust of The Griffin off the stand and stalks back outside in the blinding daylight. He promptly walks over to the railing and tosses it into the sea. He watches it sink in the clear water and disappear into the deeper blue.  

\--

“You weren’t around for it and this might surprise you but, I’m a shitty cook.” Silver confesses to Ben Gunn and Israel Hands who both didn’t bother feigning surprise. He looks between the two of them a bit disappointed. They’re sitting in the quiet Spy-Glass in the back beside a table with a drunken unconscious man face down against the wood.  There is a slight possibility that man could also be dead. One can never tell.

“I’m not too bad at it, Mr. Silver,” Ben suggests.

“Well then, that’s good enough for me.” Silver replies. Frankly, he’s a bit desperate. Not only did he have to cook something decent for Dr. Livesey this evening, but he also had to intimidate the owner of this establishment into letting him preside over it for the night but that job rests in Israel’s..hands.

“What would I have to cook?” Ben asks.

Silver turns to face the front of the tavern, where the daylight is fighting its way inside and says, “Something like porridge will suffice. I don’t think he expects anything extravagant.”

“Consider it done.” Ben loyally adds and Silver rewards him with a small squinty smile.

\--

The original cook of the Spy-Glass is a scrawny man with a lazy eye, who looks confused at Silver’s approach. He stares at the crutch as to be expected and bluntly asks, “Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m the man who’s going to give you a much deserved night off. As long as you don’t ask questions.” Silver replies with a shark-like grin. He dangles a bag of coin like bait and the man eyes it dumbly before slowly taking it.

“I ain’t gonna ask why.” The man replies with a shrug and Silver nods, “Happy to hear it.”

Silver turns, hopping towards the alleyway and into a deserted home. Hands has the owner of the Spy-Glass tied up, tightly, with a dark sack over his head. He pushes off his crutch to lean against the cold wall beside him.

“Is this necessary?” Silver asks, eyeing Hands.

“The fucker wants a fight, you ain’t gonna get him to corporate.” Hands replies and produces a dagger.

“Wait!...just a second.” Silver exclaims, motioning for him to stop and Hands sighs. A stream of muffled curses follows from the gagged owner.

“Why don’t we keep him tied up until we set off on our voyage? I don’t plan on coming back to Port Royal.” Silver asks but he knows it would be at great risk.

Hands shakes his head with irritation. “It ain’t gonna work. It’s too much of a risk. He has to go.”

Silver moves in front of Hands, forcing him to back away. He pivots his crutch to face the owner who struggles against his bonds.

“Well this isn’t fun, is it?” Silver asks him and he yells against his gag. “He won’t take coin?” Silver continues and looks to Hands but he already knows the obvious answer.

He eyes the Spy-Glass owner with a growing quiet dread. “Stubborn fool.” Silver whispers. The owner continues to struggle, wriggle and moan in rage. Silver looks to the dirty floor which straw is strewn haphazardly across it. His eyes follow the mess to an old blackened fireplace that has long grown cold and he nods once.

Silver limps back outside into the sun, which takes to caressing his face with warmth, like an old friend. Call Silver what you will but he didn’t enjoy this. He isn’t going to pretend to either. He thinks on Billy’s madness and his wild eyes searching his. He thinks too much on dead men. They tend to linger in his periphery and he ignores them, even as more gather to haunt it.

_‘you must learn to know its presence well so that you may use it…rather than it use you.’_

That voice above all others from his past snakes around his throat and holds there. He’s still seeking some sort of dark approval from it. He clenches his jaw and tightens his grip on the crutch to a painful degree. He hobbles quickly through the empty alleyway onto a back street that beggars and whore’s frequented. They call out to him like those ghosts. He makes it beyond the anguish found there to the docks, where he walks to the very edge of the platform that drops off into the sea. In perfect view is the Hispaniola, preparing for departure. His heart betrays him first by breaking into a frenzied rhythm when he spots the familiar shape of the figure on deck. He’s too far away to make out his expression or many of his features but it’s unmistakable. Silver raced here, with the hope that, that figure can provide him some clarity. _He’s_ here. All other things fall short in comparison. He’s tempted to just give up his con and approach him, scream at him, fight him, make him real again. What would Flint do then? Would he plant a sword between his ribs? Would he tell him this is what darkness wrought? This is what he always had coming to him? Silver imagines taking his hands which can wrap around Flint’s throat but instead they hold his face to his, forehead to forehead, darkness to darkness. His heart is now thundering from the line of thought. A smudged figure of James Flint can unravel him so thoroughly. Silver breaks his eyes away from the view and it’s like coming up for air after drowning. He blinks against it, confused and disoriented before he huffs a quiet bitter laugh. Even after such a separation, the spell remains, even more volatile and potent than ever before.

“It’s done.” Hands voice speaks behind him and Silver startles, trying to gain proper balance. He didn’t realize Hands followed him.

“I see.” Is all Silver can manage. His voice sounds disused and frail. The daylight is brittle against the clouds encompassing it and it isn’t doing him any favors.

Hands is squinting at him in the harsh wise way he usually did and Silver waits for whatever he wished to speak.

“You spot your captain?”

Silver gives a shaky smile to hide the change it’s having on him. “He hasn’t been my captain in quite a while.”

Hands shakes his head, “Lies.”

Silver’s false comfort disappears and as does his smile. He pushes by Hands, towards the Spy-Glass tavern, effectively ending the discussion.

\--

As night falls, Dr. Livesey adjusts his frilly cravat with irritation as he waves away the whores that beckon him. He wasn’t fond of Port Royal. Even if piracy is strictly prohibited he can see the scars and destruction those beasts left behind. As he approaches the Spy-Glass tavern, he comes to the conclusion that a place such as this is beneath him. He second guesses himself, skirting around the entrance like a buffoon before he finally steps inside, spotting the usual drunks. He sighs loudly and almost turns to exit before he spots Solomon Little making his way over to him. He has a bright smile that lit up the entirety of his handsome face and that is all the incentive Dr. Livesey needs to keep his feet planted.

“Dr. Livesey, I am very glad you decided to join us, don’t mind the drunks, it’s the natural state of the establishment.” Solomon comments and Dr. Livesey nods with a smile of his own. He takes him to a separate clean table with a flickering candle resting in the middle. Livesey sits down in the nearest chair and Solomon leans over him, resting his hand on Livesey’s shoulder. “I hope porridge is alright. It’s what’s on the menu. What of some wine?”

Dr. Livesey snaps his eyes up from the exposed skin of Solomon’s collarbone. To meet those kind eyes, graciously awaiting his answer. “All of that is fine, thank you.”

Solomon squeezes his shoulder with a small friendly tilt of his head and leaves him.

Dr. Livesey leans back in his chair to observe his surroundings. He spots a young man with his long hair tied back from his shoulders, speaking with Solomon before they both head into the back kitchen. One must always try new things; Dr. Livesey rectifies his apprehension.

\--

Silver samples the porridge with an approving ‘mhm’ before he swallows and Ben nods at him with a smile in return. Silver grabs one of the fancier wine bottles, for which this place is severally lacking, and bites the cork with his teeth to pop it off. He pours the red liquid into the goblet before setting it on the wooden tray.

“I think the Doctor has taken a likin’ to you,” Ben observes as he pours some of the porridge into a wooden bowl.

“That is why it will be easier than I had originally anticipated.” Silver adds with a flash of teeth. Ben passes the bowl to him and Silver rests it on the tray beside the goblet. He’s never been above exploiting attractions in the past. In fact, things tend to run a lot smoother that way. He wipes his hands on the dusty apron tied around him and lifts the tray as he plants a brilliant smile across his lips.

Dr. Livesey startles out of his thoughts when he notices Silver and he watches him serve the porridge with the wine. Silver didn’t bother to ask, he just pulls out the chair in front of Dr. Livesey and promptly sits. The doctor seems pleased by this development, so, Silver leans back in the uncomfortable chair with a sly smile. “I do hope you like it.” He remarks.

Dr. Livesey shoves a steaming spoon full into his mouth and begins shaking his head rapidly in approval. He hides the fact that he burnt his tongue on the heat of it. Silver nods with him and rests his hands comfortably on the table.

“The recipe has been in my family for quite a long time.” Silver confesses and Dr. Livesey swallows, clearing his throat. “Yes, well that…that is delicious.”

Silver presses his lips together in feigned meekness, “I am so happy to hear it. May this be the beginning of my employ?”

Dr. Livesey wipes his face on the cloth provided and holds his hand out for a shake across the table. Silver immediately takes it, a little more roughly than he intended but the man didn’t seem to mind. He’s watching Silver like he’s the cache itself. “Welcome aboard!” Dr. Livesey announces.

But Silver doesn’t waste much time, “There are two others who I wish to accompany me. I think I had heard you are looking for a bosun?”

Dr. Livesey’s eyes light up even more and he replies, “Yes! Please bring them with you to the Hispaniola, we are short on crew.”

Silver grins widely, “Thank you. That settles it then. Your captain won’t mind?”

“I don’t think he minds, Mr. Little. He is…he enjoys his quiet, but I can introduce you?” Dr. Livesey suggests and Silver pretends to consider it.

“I imagine there is a lot more preparation to be done, so, perhaps once we are out at sea..you could introduce me. I would very much like to meet him.” Silver blasts his Cheshire grin at the poor Doctor and he’s helpless against the onslaught of it.

“That can be arranged.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you are still enjoying this :) the reunion is nigh, just had to do some world building before that happens.


	6. The Edge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reunion has arrived! Angst ahoy! I hope you enjoy :)

**-Before-**

_The rain remains an unrelenting terror of a downpour. The forest, this trap, is an insufferable limbo. When Silver finally lowers the pistol, Flint’s rage dies. He watches the death of it across his features, leaving only defeat to linger there. It’s a devastating sight to see such a man lose everything he clings to. It falls away so quietly. He couldn’t give Flint what he wanted._

_“I tried…” Silver begins and his voice wavers. It barely reaches Flint against the loud rain. “…to find Thomas.”_

_Flint’s eyes snap to his with raw despair. He’s searching Silver’s face for the lie but there isn’t one. “I thought that if anyone could put an end to your war, it was him. I thought that by finding him, it could possibly give us all some measure of peace.”_

_“Enough.” Flint darkly states, his lips twitching with the sound._

_“He wasn’t where I thought he’d be. I’m sorr-“_

_‘ENOUGH!” Flint’s voice collapses into anguish; he’s shaking with it. His eyes are wildly searching for something that isn’t there. Only Silver remains in this space. The space he now refuses to look upon. Silver lets the gun drop from his aching hand and it thuds to the forest floor loudly between them._

_Flint snipes, meaning to wound, “When we depart from this forest we will not share a word again.”_

_Silver feels as though he’s been shredded and left to die in this wretched jungle. He just repeats what he spoke to him not long before, “I never wanted this.”_

_The rain continues to blur and choke the leaves. Flint replies with the last words he speaks to him, “You left it in the ground.”_

_He turns, crunching through the forest and Silver makes no move to stop him. An eternal silence creeps in. Their thread, their tether has been torn and cast into the mud. The loss of it would haunt every corner, in every space._

\--

**-Present-**

Shadows like specters dance and fade across the bare ceiling from the candle's flame. Silver blinks at them above him, as if he can choreograph their design. Do those dark shapes have names? What would they say to him if they had a voice to speak?

“You trapped me.” He says, softly to the false figure all dark things resemble. The looming figure shadowed in the corner. The crooked figure above him next to the window pane. _He_ is in all these things. Silver has spoken with shadows ever since Flint vanished out of his life. He pretended for a while that it was his phantom, somehow made real by the flame. He remains enraptured by the silent dark until the first hint of daylight begins to climb into his small room at the Inn. The morning light scares away the shadows he finds a feral comfort in.

He sits up slowly from the lumpy bed and pulls his messy hair back from his face. He ties it loosely in place with a small piece of frayed rope. Sweat from the humidity gathered on the ends and it sticks uncomfortably to the side of his neck.  

His reflection is a false thing and it still reminds him of the self that once resided inside of him. He’s an imposter of that John Silver. He’s wearing his skin and nothing more. With that morbid conclusion, Silver smacks his crutch on the ground and exits the room. The heat of the day is utterly suffocating and a sheen of sweat is already forming on his forehead. Ben is standing outside like a madman, in direct sunlight, eating an apple as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He limps over to him without starting any conversation. He just eyes him and Ben glances at him as he throws the pit in the dirt.

“Mornin’ Mr. Silver.” He greets.

“Are you ready to board the Hispaniola?” Silver asks and tries to appear casual. He bores a hole into the dirt pathway with his crutch as he forces a smile. It stretches his lips thin and relieves them of color.

“Better than waitin’ around here any longer. Are you?” Ben asks but he studies Silver’s shadow before meeting his eyes.

Silver huffs, “Our adventure may not last long. Flint may just throw me into the sea.” He tries to convey in jest but it comes out hollow.

“I think the two of you will outlive us all,” Ben replies with an accepting smile and he looks at Silver, who tries to return the expression and fails.  His hand aches from gripping the crutch and he wonders if Ben is a fortune teller. “You’ll see.” Ben confidently adds. Silver watches him with quiet regard as the heat collects around his shoulders to weigh him down.

Israel Hands looms in the foreground with a grumpy twist to his features. “We should head to the docks.” Silver says, more to himself than to either of them.

The Hispaniola awaits them like a mythic Siren, with her hand outstretched; singing and whispering for them to climb aboard. Silver already heard her call when he first arrived and there’s not a world in which he would turn back. Hands and Ben walk side by side, quietly behind him, as if to give him space as he approaches the ship. The blatant trepidation that Silver feels is unmatched.

He immediately eyes the main deck and sees no one worthy of note. The figure isn’t there that he seeks in all manner of setting. Dr. Livesey is standing by the bridge to the ship waving away a peasant boy who appears to be heckling him. He spots Silver before he reaches him and breaks into a large grin. “Mr. Little! I am ever so glad you’ve arrived.”

“As I said before, Doctor. You may call me Solomon.” Silver says and hobbles up to him. Dr. Livesey squints at him brightly and his eyes drift for a moment to his crutch as if he’s just noticing it.

“Ah, yes, Solomon. Who are your—” Dr. Livesey blanches when he sees the intimidating scowl Hands has for him.

“That is Mr. Hands. I assure you, he’s quite capable but he doesn’t talk much and this is Mr. Gunn, he’d make a good bosun.” Silver suggests while trying to block his view of the harsh red-bearded man behind him. Ben steps up with a polite smile and holds out his hand for Dr. Livesey to shake. He graciously accepts and the doubtful expression fades.

“Dare I say he will. We are in need of a new coxswain, is your other friend skilled at navigation by any chance?” Dr. Livesey asks, peering around Silver’s shoulder to the scarred face behind him. Silver nods with a fake surprised smile and exclaims loudly, “He’s exceptional, actually!” He can sense the glare that Hands is burning into his back. Dr. Livesey’s excitement crescendos and he smacks his hand on Silver’s shoulder with satisfaction. To Silver’s dismay, he keeps his hand there as Silver limps beside him towards the ship. “oh, that’s right! You wanted to be introduced to Captain Barlow!”

Silver suddenly panics, his chest constricts, and he stumbles, leaning on his crutch at an awkward angle. His words fall out of his mouth quickly, “Perhaps we should wait until we are out at sea. I’m sure the Captain is very busy.”

Dr. Livesey is still searching the deck for him. “He must be in his quarters, he’s a bit grumpy that one, prefers to be alone.” He states and Silver can’t say if he’s either disappointed or relieved he isn’t in sight.

“Why don’t you show me to the kitchen?” He hints and Dr. Livesey rests his hand on his shoulder again, agreeing. He eyes Ben and Hands and leaves them to the fate of the ship.

The kitchen is better equipped than the one on the Walrus and almost entirely untouched. Dr. Livesey tells him in great detail how the woodwork will help provide proficient cooking. Silver drowns him out and lets his thoughts slip away to the space above him. What will he say to _him_? He wonders with an odd fondness, how much rage _he_ has stored for him. Will they roar at one another until the sea rages back?

“We are to set sail.” The low monotone voice interrupts his daydream. Silver spots a tall man with a hard face eyeing the two of them. He has long dark hair tied back away from his face and his eyes are the color of soot. His stance and demeanor is a form of practiced stoicism.  

“Ah, yes, of course, Mr. Arrow our quartermaster. This is our new cook, Solomon Little.” Dr. Livesey introduces and motions towards Silver, who tries to throw a smile his way.

Mr. Arrow’s cold disregard deflects his charm. “I didn’t think it was wise to take on one-legged crew members.” Is his response and Silver’s smile tightens but refuses to fade.

“Well, that’s not very polite, Mr. Arrow. Mr. Little is a wonderful cook, you’ll see.” Dr. Livesey compliments kindly.

Mr. Arrow studies Silver, staring rudely at his missing leg, unimpressed. Silver didn’t break eye contact when he meets his eyes again. They hold that gaze long enough to plant a seed of tension between them. Silver knows this _Mr. Arrow_ will be trouble. There’s something about him; a darkness he recognizes and likens it to someone with the arrogance of Woodes Rogers.

“It’s your money, Dr. Livesey.” Mr. Arrow snipes and slips a pair of dark gloves on before leaving them. They listen in awkward silence for a moment as the clomping of his boots dies out.

“I am sorry for that, truly. He’s---” Dr. Livesey stops and tries to think of something to redeem him with.

“Don’t worry, doctor. All is fine.” Silver lies and gives his usual placating grin.

\--

The Hispaniola disembarks with a nervous energy thrumming through the entire crew. They all know what they are after and where it is they are headed. All thanks to dear ol’ Billy’s map.

Silver waits just out of sight as if Flint will appear and make one of his earth-shattering speeches that’d have the men salivating, but he never appears. Instead, Dr. Livesey attempts to rouse the crew, which has half the men fighting to stay awake. He goes off on several tangents about the importance of teamwork and what it can achieve. “Today marks the beginning of this grand venture into the unknown! Together we will achieve the impossible!”

Silver yawns and looks towards the sea that the Hispaniola glides through. It’s choppy and the wind is erratic. Clouds gather but refuse to drop any rain, as if the storm is holding back for some unknown purpose. He’s about to make his way back to the kitchen when he spots him.

That familiar figure, now more visible than ever, walks beside the railing of the main deck. Silver is unprepared for the incursion of panic that blooms in his chest. Flint looks different but all together the same. His hair has grown back enough to dance in the wild wind and the pinched expression on his face is too familiar. It sets him apart. As Flint turns in his direction, Silver moves out of the line of sight. He presses his back against the wall in the small overhang and releases a heavy breath. All that rage that Silver tried to gather for him, to match Flint’s, dampens to embers. He has obsessed over all possible avenues and the ways in which Flint could slice him in two. He thought foolishly that he was prepared. Seeing him so briefly and so close is possibly the best and most terrifying thing that’s occurred in quite a long time. Silver moves away from the wall and skirts around the deck to peer out at the crew again. They are scattering because Dr. Livesey’s ‘riveting’ speech is at an end. Flint has disappeared from view as if he was never there, to begin with as if Silver had briefly conjured him out of a daydream.  

Port Royal has been swallowed up by the vast darkening horizon. A smattering of rain spits at them from the heavy clouds and the wind picks up to an irritating degree. They’d be pulled into a tempest soon enough as if the sea is sending out a ‘welcome home’.

“He’s alone on the quarter-deck,” Ben comments from behind him. Silver starts and turns to face him without a smile to spare. He’s given away too many; his face is beginning to ache with the fallacy of it.

“To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure if I’m up to the task.” Silver replies, nervously truthful and he feels like a foolish coward. It’s as if time has reverted to the past and he’s the cook hiding below the ship again.  

“Best air your troubles as soon as possible, Mr. Silver but that’s only my advice,” Ben says softly. He leaves him, always careful not to push or pester. He limps out into the open, chancing a glance towards the quarter-deck, before leaning back against the rail and shutting his eyes tightly.

He can hear Dr. Livesey speaking loudly to one of the crew and his voice is slowly drawing nearer. The last thing Silver wants is to navigate through one of Dr. Livesey’s ramblings. He pushes the crutch beneath his arm, resolute. His heart is a hammer and he clenches his jaw tight enough to crack apart his face. He moves up towards the quarter-deck as if he’s walking to the gallows.

Up the short set of stairs, Flint is facing away from him, looking out to that forever sea claiming his thoughts. Silver watches the wind caress his hair and he remains stalk-still. Flint's like a statue and he wants to reach out to make him real.

Silver opens his mouth to speak when Dr. Livesey suddenly interrupts from behind him with a loud “Oh yes! I forgot I was to introduce you to the captain.”

The portly doctor comes into view with an annoyingly wide grin and Silver didn’t have one to spare. Flint didn’t turn to face them nor did he say a word.

“Captain Barlow, this is our new cook, Solomon Little. He’s been asking to meet you.” The cheeriness of those words swims forward but it snuffs out before it reaches Flint. Silver watches his shoulders suddenly tighten at the mention of the name. He can hardly hold himself upright any longer, his crutch is teetering from the pressure.

“Sorry…I don’t know what’s gotten into him” Dr. Livesey huffs, “We apologize for bothering you, sir! Perhaps another time.” 

Dr. Livesey walks towards the stairs and waits as if Silver is going to follow him, but it's just background noise quickly forgotten when Flint turns from the railing to face him.

Flint’s eyes lock onto his and it’s a dizzying delirium. It feels as though it has been an eternity since he’s looked upon that face. The face of the man he’d come to know so well. At first, there is no fury to be found in Flint’s expression, only bewilderment. He’s exposed and Silver’s vulnerabilities are tossed at their feet. It’s as if Flint is trying to figure out if he’s imagined, much like Billy did. Everyone seems to think he’s an apparition who has come to haunt them. The small bared breathless moment didn’t last long. The heat in his gaze begins to permeate around them; entrammeling him.  He recognizes it now, the familiar rage that pools beneath. It’s a gift to Silver. An eruption that’s only for him. The dark desperation and where it lies is a deeper uncultivated truth. How long had he been saving this despair for him and only him?

For a moment, Silver thinks Flint is going to scream, collapse this ship, collapse into him but he breaks the contact with a blunt turn of his head. The disconnect is excruciating. They’ve both lost all sense of purpose and direction, even the storm begins to roar above them but the sound is lost to them. Flint stalks away and down the stairs. Silver almost tumbles when he slides his crutch forward to watch him disappear towards the captain’s quarters.

He ignores Dr. Livesey’s confused outburst and the steady stream of questions that follow. Silver stumbles down the steps and his line of vision is only to that door ahead, nothing else. It feels as though his heart is going to escape from his throat.  

The door to the captain’s cabin is ajar and Silver pushes his way inside. He startles when Flint slams it immediately shut behind him. In a flurry of movement, Flint snatches the front of Silver’s shirt and shoves him forcefully against the wall of the cabin; shaking the shelves around them and knocking trinkets to the floor. Silver’s crutch is lost in the process and the only way he’s able to stay upright is because of Flint. He snarls in his face, his lips curling viciously and he can feel the heavy exhale of breath ghost across his nose. Flint’s eyes search over him; mapping out his features as if he’s looking for a change, a flaw to latch onto. Silver doesn't fear this. If Flint wants to destroy him here and now, he’ll welcome it. He’d pull Flint down with him until they’re both lost in the depths of the sea below. Their chests heave in tandem and Flint grips his shirt tighter, strangling the material instead of Silver himself. “You left it in the ground.” Flint grits and he forces him harder against the wall. They dangle together on the edge as they always have. Silver latches onto Flint’s arm painfully, for purchase. Flint continues in a harsh whisper, “Is that what you are?” The heat of his words brand themselves onto Silver’s skin.

“What am I?” Silver chances.

Flint’s fist that’s curled in his shirt, moves up his chest, nearly tearing the material. The mad desperation is palpable. Silver is intoxicated by it. “Those that come to know you, dash themselves to pieces on the splintered shores hidden beneath.” Flint’s anger corrugates through his words in a heady lament. Silver feels the chuckle rise in his throat and it’s met with those fury filled green eyes. He holds dark amusement in his shaky voice, “You’ve given me too much credit. Am I your villain now? A new demon you’ve added to your collection? I assure you, _captain_ , I am merely flesh and blood.”

Flint battles a storm of thoughts in his mind, which play across his features. “What the fuck are you doing here?!” Flint yells. It’s Silver’s turn to openly search Flint’s face and recognize the light smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose and to follow the sheen of sweat on his upper lip. Flint is taken back by the scrutiny. His rage falters and Silver finally glimpses, if but for a moment, the man hidden underneath. “Looking for you. You see…I heard you were after the fucking cache.”

“Come to take that from me too, Mr. Silver?” Flint asks, viciously. They struggle for a moment and the grip Flint has on him is tightening like a vise. Silver bluntly whispers, “Yes.”

He feels Flint’s hand wrap around his neck, only without any pressure. Flint’s holding himself back. He always held himself back with him. Silver bares more of his throat to him as a challenge and Flint keeps the press of his fingers light, despite his fury. Silver wants nothing more in this moment than to claim ownership of Flint’s rage and for Flint to mold himself into him. The change in tension and the veneration in Silver’s expression forces Flint’s snarl to fade. Silver’s hand bravely travels up Flint’s arm to his neck and barely touches the skin that twitches under his fingers. His hand slowly moves to rest on Flint’s face. The light pressure of it causes Flint to flinch and step back as if burned. He releases him in one quick movement and Silver loses balance with nothing to grasp onto. He falls forward to the floor and hits his shoulder against the wood.

“Get out,” Flint growls, low and threatening. His heaving back is to Silver. Flint had danced on the cliff’s edge again but had yet to plummet. Silver forces himself to sit up, his own rage building from the sudden loss of contact. He reaches forward and pulls his crutch to him; dragging it loudly across the floor. He pushes himself upwards with a bitter stretch of a smile across his lips. One Flint doesn’t see but knows is there hidden in his words, “You and I are trapped together in this endeavor and deep down, a part of you wanted this. A part of you needed it. It gives you purpose.”

“Get out!” Flint shouts, his hand turning white from pressing it against the desk. Silver complies, wobbling and waning. His entire body is shaking, alight with something wild and nameless.


	7. A Necessary End

Battered, broken, and left in the mud, that tether of theirs still remains. As he leaves the room, he can feel the tangled destructive connection twist and claim every part of him. It coils in the chamber of his heart as if it never left. Silver steps out of the captain’s cabin and is immediately drenched with an unforgiving sideways downpour but he is hardly aware. His hair billows around him wildly and he breathes in the storm as he limps towards the main deck. He watches the crew slip and slide with a disconnected absent awareness. There’s a rushing in his ears and his hands are shaking. It’s as if he’s back in that forest again waiting for a reprieve that never comes. His skin burns where Flint had viciously grabbed him and he wants the pain to last, like an imprint. If this is all he’ll have he’ll keep it there. He’ll hold it prisoner to his ribs.

One of the crew, a short balding man, is trying to get his attention but the rushing sound remains. Thunder rumbles in a muffled attempt to distract him and he blinks at the man with disinterest. He’s quickly becoming irritated with Silver’s demeanor. Silver can see his neck muscles strain and the twitch of his eye as if what he’s saying is of the utmost importance but Silver couldn't care less. The sound tumbles back to him in a wave, “What the fuck is your problem?” The wind rips through them savagely and the sky cracks above to welcome him back to reality. Silver tries to gain a form of balance with his current surroundings.

“Well, not any concern of yours, I’m afraid.” Silver corrects and the crewman’s anger heightens.

“You the cook ain’t ya? Where the fuck is our supper?” He spits.

“Simmering in the pot, it takes time. Perhaps this should be a lesson in patience.” Silver snips and smirks at him. He waits to see if he gets a fist in the face but it didn’t come. Darkly, he hopes for one. He needs the distraction. Perhaps, if these men were pirates he most likely would have.

“Hurry the fuck up!” He yells and Silver takes his time. He pivots slowly towards the kitchen as curses are thrown at him by the irate man behind him.

\--

Flint’s faintly aware that his hand is going numb from the pressure he’s applying to it. He lifts it from the desk and shakes it once; flexing his fingers. His limbs are foreign to him and he can’t bring himself to sit. He’s afraid he’ll fall into the cracks of the ship if he does. The Hispaniola shakes and sighs from the wind barreling down on her. There’s a harsh knock that draws his eyes to the door and he runs a hand over his face while releasing a shaky breath. Flint has made him real again, he has brought him here, hasn’t he? But what possible purpose could this serve? He despises the way Silver trips through his heartbeat so easily. He wants to throw him to the storm and let it have its way. Maybe then, that’s when he will finally rest his eyes. The ancient fury that had dulled to background noise has awakened and is wreaking havoc of all of his senses. The knocking persists.

“What is it?!” Flint snaps and Ben Gunn of all people peeks his head in.

_How blind has he been?_

“Sorry to bother ya, captain but Mr. Arrow wishes to speak,” Ben reports quietly, avoiding the cutting glare Flint has for him. The door is quickly shut when no response is given and Flint pushes back his wild hair resting against his forehead.

He steps out of the cabin and is immediately drenched with a rain-soaked gale. He walks briskly along the slippery tilting decks unaffected as crewmen trip and scream at one another ahead of him. He spots the scarred familiar coxswain eyeing him with an old suspicion. Flint’s stoicism reverts back to his rage as if someone lit a candle beneath it.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” Flint yells above the howling wind. He steps closer to the man who has always been unafraid.

“You and I both know you planned this to draw him here. You can fool them with your lies.” Hands says and tilts his head at the nameless struggling crew. “And maybe yourself. But I won’t be fooled. You’re still burrowed deep in his head and he, the same in yours.”

Flint clenches his jaw against those words. “Think what you like but there is no deep design to my plans. You aren’t welcome here.”

“So many lies.” Hands replies with the shake of his head and he keeps a firm grip on the wooden handles of the teetering wheel. Flint leaves him to his irritating ruminations and heads for the Galley.

Mr. Arrow sat at one of the tables which is blocked from view of the kitchen by a wooden beam to Flint’s relief. “I asked for you over an hour ago.”

“Yes, well, we did just slip through a tempest, Mr. Arrow,” Flint replies curtly and sits in front of the hardened face that didn’t have an ounce of regard.

“The cook.” Mr. Arrow states and it already sets Flint’s mind reeling as he fights against the evitable change in his expression.

“What of him?”

“I witnessed a peculiar sight yesterday, the two of you on the quarterdeck. Then he disappeared into your cabin. Do you know each other?” Mr. Arrow prods and presses his lips into a thin line.

“No. We do not and what business is it of yours?” Flint bites and has no problem dispersing any niceties that may have still dangled precariously between them.

“Do you know why Dr. Livesey brought me on this venture?” Mr. Arrow asks and the apathy is evolving into something darker.

“I really couldn’t give a damn, if you are just going to waste my time then I will take my leave.” Flint snaps and stands from the table.

Mr. Arrow continues, “He brought me along because I’m good at rooting out ill-intent. It was a plague among the pirates, Captain Barlow. I watched them hang for it in the hopes that one day I’d catch a glimpse of the one they called Long John Silver. He disappeared into obscurity after the death of Captain Flint from what I heard.”

Flint’s smile is vicious and his words are whip-quick, “Please do tell me what the fuck the point of this is?”

Flint knew, of course, he knew.

“I had my suspicions about a certain cook but no proof and witnessing the silent exchange between the two of you only encouraged my curiosity but as of now, that is all it is. I just thought you should be aware that I will be waiting for certain suspicions to be given credence.”

Flint frames his words deliberately slow, “Are you accusing me of something here, Mr. Arrow?” He’s on the verge of lunging across the table and being down with this.

“No. No one is accusing anyone, captain. I’ll just have my eye on that cook and I thought you should know.” Mr. Arrow replies as if he’s accomplished a feat. 

“Don’t pester me with your madness again.” Flint barks and his glare is dagger-sharp as he leaves Mr. Arrow to his useless prattling. He stalks angrily towards his cabin with thoughts of Silver’s blatant disregard of subtlety.

\--

“Where do you hail from?”  

Silver snaps from his thoughts while staring into a bowl of what he hopes passes as soup. Tom, one of the crewmen who is aiding him in the kitchen is waiting for him to speak. He has a burn scar stretching down his adam's apple and he’s a bit skittish in Silver’s presence. He’d guess it’s the missing leg that sets people on edge. They don’t know how to look away and it used to bother him but now he stands out in the open for those to gawk if they must. “White Chapel originally.” Silver smiles as he lies.

“Never been there, was it nice?” Tom questions and Silver leans on his crutch when he pours another bowl.

“No, it wasn’t. What about you?” He politely asks.

“From Kingston and hated it more with each new year.” He supplies and Silver didn’t press further because if he continues this path of conversation then he’d have to tell the orphanage story yet again and he isn’t in the mood. His mind is on the verge of cracking into madness. Tom eyes his crutch and studies Silver with a hooded curiosity that he found disconcerting.

Instead of lingering, he serves the men that wait for their food like ravenous dogs. They snatch the bowls from him without more than a grunt. “You’re welcome.” Silver replies.

“This tastes like piss!” Someone calls and Silver is tempted to laugh but he thinks if he starts now then he’ll never stop.

That night when he finally sits down to rest on his swaying cot, he moves his crutch against an empty apple barrel and catches the eye of Tom. Tom, who is staring at him from his cot and quickly turns over when he notices Silver catch him. It was too dark to see his expression but Silver can read cues well. It seems more than curiosity. It seems like he’s trying to place Silver as if perhaps, he has seen him before and whatever the case may be it isn’t good. 

Silver lies back on his cot with a quiet sigh and stares above at the bland shapeless ceiling that rewarded him with nothing but flickering darkness. He rests his hand on his chest where Flint had bruised him from twisting his shirt and presses his fingers into the skin until it stings. He tries to banish him like any other thought but he’s like shards embedded inside his skull. They reflect back at him all the things he’s yet to discover about himself. Flint brings out that darkness, that need to claw and pull apart every breath. He can almost feel the words ghosting over the bridge of his nose.

_“is that what you are?”_   

He wanted to taste those words and count every one of them on his tongue. Silver quickly shifts and turns on his side, facing away from the candlelight. He’s not thinking in straight lines; his thoughts are dotted erratic roads that all lead into one. It’s not as if the attraction and unfocused lust should surprise him. He’s felt it before with Flint even if he never dared to name it or examine it too closely. This has grown into something destructive. He’s let it fester until there is no destroying it lest he destroys himself.

Lying in the dark for hours has become a common practice for him. He watches the beginnings of the morning light leak in as the ship settles. They have battled through the small tempest unscathed. He sits up just as other members of the crew are waking and pretends to ignore Tom’s examination of him yet again. Silver can’t seem to move without drawing his eyes. He grabs his crutch and wobbles upright while gripping the rope above him for balance.

The sun is already bright against its reflection in the calm sea and he blinks his eyes away from the light. He finds Hands who resembles a grumpy wet cat by the wheel. He glares at Silver as he approaches.

“There’s something I need to discuss and I’m not sure—” Silver begins but Hands interrupts with, “fuck Flint, don’t fuck Flint.”

Silver’s brows knit together, “I’ll have you know this isn’t about Flint.”

“Well, that’s a first then..” Hands counters snippily and Silver narrows his eyes, “Storms do not agree with you.” He limps closer and Hands blinks at him wearily. “It’s about a crewman named Tom that has been assigned to helping me in the Galley.”

“You want me to kill him?” Hands asks gruffly. Silver winces, “No. Right now it’s just something to be discussed. Do you understand?” He corrects and Hands shrugs before leaning towards the wheel. “Out with it then…” He encourages and Silver glances with a small strained smile at one of the crew that passes them by.

“He’s been watching me. I think he might recognize me. What if he’s seen me before? I wasn’t exactly subtle in Nassau.” Silver adds.

Hands points at someone behind him, “He watches you too but it don’t look like suspicion to me.”

Silver turns to see Dr. Livesey waving at him from across the main deck. Silver lifts his hand slowly to begrudgingly wave back. He turns to Hands quick and in a harsh whisper replies, “That’s not what I mean. Something is off. I don’t trust it.”

“The solution is a simple one. Toss him into the sea.”

Silver sighs, “Give me time and I will let you know if it’s necessary.”

Hands appears displeased and declares bluntly, “You’re the worst fucking pirate I’ve ever known.”

“Why thank you.” Silver retorts with a cheeky grin. A grin which falters and falls completely from his lips when he spots Flint walking towards the captain’s cabin.   

\--

“Captain.” A voice calls from behind him and he stops his feet before the door.

“Not now.” Flint grits. He’s had enough conversing with these imbeciles for the day.

“It’s important. You’re going to want to hear this.” The voice says and Flint turns to face the young man with a scarred neck.

He shoves his door open, proving to whoever wishes to interrupt him now is most unwelcome. They both step inside the quiet room and he shuts the door behind them. All remains silent as he sits calmly in his chair; his irritation growing. The scarred young man eyes him with the usual brand of apprehension.

“My name is Tom and I’ve been helping in the Galley. There’s something you should know about the cook, sir.” Tom says and promptly sits in the chair at the front of his desk.

Flint breathes, “Christ…”

Tom watches him like a frightened rabbit and Flint didn’t have the patience to spare. “Well, what is it?”

“Mr. Arrow told me to keep a lookout for anything strange. I saw him before, sir. I used to travel to Nassau before Spain burned it to the ground. This might be a bit of shock but I know that man. He’s Long John Silver.” Tom supplies with wide terrified eyes.

Flint stares at him; the picture of calm disinterest. Inside, his mind is swirling in a frenzy.

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken.” He attempts and Tom shakes his head at him, reluctantly disagreeing.

“I’m not mistaken, sir. I glimpsed the pirate king with my own eyes and I was going to take this to Mr. Arrow but I figured you should be the first to know that there’s a pirate on board.” Tom replies truthfully.

Flint knows that this is Tom’s grave mistake. Had he taken it to Mr. Arrow they may be fighting off a mutiny but now all of that rests on this skittish man’s shoulders.

“If I were to ask you not to take it to Mr. Arrow, what would you say?” Flint questions and he knows Tom doesn’t comprehend that his life hangs on this answer.  

Tom shakes his head in confusion, perplexed at Flint’s demeanor. “I have to take it to him, sir. I’m under his employee.”

Flint leans back in his chair and watches the man fidget under his gaze. “Mr. Arrow is slowly losing his capability for rational thought, he has given himself to conspiracy,” Flint advises and Tom is utterly confused.

“But it’s not just Mr. Arrow sir, I’ve seen Long John Silver!” Tom exclaims and Flint pinches the bridge of his nose.

“The chances of this are incredibly slim, you must understand what it is you are accusing this man of. You’d be sentencing him to hang. Are you quite certain that the cook is who you think he is?” Flint tries the empathetic approach and Tom looks even more dumbfounded.

“He’s Long John Silver! It’s the same man. Mr. Arrow is right!” Tom counters and seems to grow irritated with Flint’s feigned disbelief. Flint could let this go and watch how things unfold, watch the accusations and the circulating truth of Long John Silver come to light. He could claim ignorance to it and leave him to his fate. Flint wants to be that man that could do that. He wants to exact revenge on the man that took everything and molded him into this castaway of roiling self-doubt. But this is  _Silver_. The softness of that awareness is something he despises. He couldn’t watch him be fed to sharks of men. If anyone is to tear him apart, it’d be Flint. Tom has become another Dooley; a necessary end.

“Wait..” Flint says and holds up his hand. “..why don’t we take it to Mr. Arrow together?”

Tom seems relieved with that answer and Flint found it unfortunate how this rabbit couldn’t sense it’d entered the den of its predator.

\--

Silver leans on his crutch as he watches the dark waves that surround the ship like a void. They are cutting through the reflection of the sky towards the large moon. It’s otherworldly the way the water behaves in the night and those nonexistent beasts glide barely above the surface to match his thoughts. A light wind blows a strand of his hair across his nose; it tickles his chin and he pushes it away. It’s these moments he starts to count all the people he’s let down and toss those unending thoughts into the dark sea below.

“Mr. Silver.”

He turns to see Ben watching him with a tense expression.

“Everything alright, Ben?” Silver asks and Ben hesitates a moment before he whispers, “The captain wishes to see you.”

Silver steps back in wobbly unbalanced surprise. “He asked you to fetch me?”

“Yes, it’s urgent.” Ben quickly adds and eyes the dark path to the captain’s cabin. Silver’s breathy bewilderment didn’t go unnoticed by Ben but he makes no note of it. He limps towards that cabin with a million thoughts scattering and reforming in his skull.

He lifts his fist and knocks once on the cabin door.

“Come in.” Flint’s voice is tight and prompt.

Silver pushes the door open and slowly teeters in before softly shutting it behind him. Silver speaks slowly, “I was very surprised when—”

He stops suddenly when he turns to face Flint who is standing over the lifeless body of Tom. Flint’s breath is heavy, his hair is a mess and he looks at Silver with an exhausted cold contempt.

“What the fuck?!” Silver harshly whispers. His heartbeat skips and scuttles.

“We have to get rid of, Mr. Arrow.” Flint supplies without any other explanation. He turns towards his desk and runs his hands through his hair in an attempt to avoid eye contact with Silver.

“He’s dead.” Silver states unhelpfully. His eyes frantically skim the body, seeing no blood in the vicinity. Memories of finding Flint holding Mr. Gates’ body spring to mind as if the years between hadn’t happened.

“We must find a way to toss him overboard and deal with Mr. Arrow.” Flint orders and still refuses to face him.  

“Hold on a moment.” Silver asks with a breathless huff, “Please explain to me what the fuck happened here.”

“There has been—” Flint begins and Silver interrupts, “Face me.”

Flint’s shoulders tense at those words but he didn’t comply. He continues with a bit more irritation, “There have been suspicions circulating the ship between Mr. Arrow and Tom that you are Long John Silver. It seems that Tom has seen you in Nassau and he was going to tell Mr. Arrow that you are in fact the ‘pirate king’, so I’m dealing with the mess you made.” Flint finally turns to face him then, his are eyes are still filled with that fury that took Silver apart at the seams.

“But why? Why not just leave me to my fate?” Silver’s words waver and sound more desperate than he had intended. He needed Flint to say it, that he did this for him. He’s not a complete monster, he did feel bad for Tom having been caught in the crossfire, but he’d be lying if a fondness didn’t bloom morbidly in chest against his will.

“Don’t flatter yourself. Mr. Arrow saw us on the quarterdeck and notice you follow me into the cabin. It could have implicated me in this mess. I will not own your mistakes. You forced my hand.” Flint confesses aptly.

“I forced  _your_  hand? Why the fuck do you think we are here in the first place?” Silver asks and his anger threads through them both; connecting to Flint’s like a lightning rod.

“Did I force you to come here and play the cook again? I don’t want you here. You’re not welcome.” Flint’s words are barbs that echo back from the past. Silver feels it repeating, only now the way they are thrown at him cuts him wide open, more ever than before. Silver swallows and blinks rapidly, breaking eye contact. He says softly, “Why did you ask Ben to fetch me?”

“Because this is your mess, Mr. Silver,” Flint answers, coolly.

“You’re a liar.” Silver’s voice is low and sharp.

“Excuse me?”

“You need me here. That’s what this whole fucking thing is about. You can toss your insults at me if it brings you peace but do not for a second think I am a fool.” Silver’s words absorb the quiet room whereas Flint’s words burst out of him like a pistol shot, “You gave it away! What we could have been! We could have freed the world. You took that from us.” There’s a sudden gutted rawness to Flint’s tone as he let his thoughts pour out of his throat without his volition. “Your comfort grew stale and what did you see when you looked into those shadows? Nothing, I imagine. Nothing at all. And in the mirror? A broken man. You gave it away!” He repeats as if speaking from a haunted paralleled perspective. Silver’s eyes begin to well, wetting his eyelashes.

Silver replies, softly, “I didn’t want to lose—”

His quiet words are interrupted by a knock and they both turn wild-eyed towards the door. The reality of the situation collapses into their bubble and Tom’s lifeless body comes into focus from his periphery once again.

Flint’s voice cracks while trying to calm himself, “What is it?!”

Ben's muffled voice says, “You said to let you know when most of the crew has retired.”

Flint exhales. Silver swallows against the painful lump that resides in his throat and they stand there in mirrored exhausted sorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a blast to write so far and thank you for reading! :)
> 
> Follow me on tumblr for piratey things and updates @brassfannibal


	8. The Plummet

The stillness of the room despite the rocking of the Hispaniola resembles a dimly lit painting. Flint leans back on his desk with his hands gripping the edge. He looks down at the body of Tom at his feet as if he’s seeing through him to the sea beneath. Silver observes this stillness like an outsider looking in. He can’t bring himself to speak. The silence itself has become its own entity.

Much like the memory of the jungle, Flint didn’t look at him. Silver, himself, begins to wonder if he’s become a figment; haunted with indecision. There’s so much to say and so many ways in which Silver imagined saying it. He knows that no matter how many times he’s planned out words for Flint they fall short of all the things that hide beneath. How long has he held them on his tongue?

The door opens, startling them both and Hands steps inside to shut it behind him.  He eyes them with a squint and glances at Tom. “If you’d have let me kill em’ in the first place—”

Silver holds up his palm to interrupt, “Yes, I am aware.”

Hands glares at Flint and he answers that stare back with his own scathing expression. Ben shimmy’s inside the cabin and shakes an old dusty tarp open. Flint flinches with annoyance at the men crowding the room and he finally speaks, “The two of you will toss him over the side.”

Hands looks to Silver as if he’s waiting for him to counter it.

“Do we have a clear path? Few witnesses?” Silver manages instead.

Flint interrupts, “Mr. Silver will take his leave now before his cot grows too cold. Mr. Arrow will be more suspicious after Tom goes missing. It’s best to appear as though you are unaware.”

“I will, will I?” Silver asks, looking directly at Flint with a defiant tilt of his head. Hands grunts and kneels to begin wrapping the body in the tarp with Ben’s help.

“Yes. You will.” Flint recites slowly and keeps his eyes on the two men in front of them.

Silver moves, standing upright from leaning on his crutch and grabs a small rope coiled on the shelf. He limps over to them and hands it to Ben. “I’ll leave…once you look at me.” Silver replies and stares openly at Flint awaiting his response. He knows it may seem petulant but he wasn’t above such persuasion.

To anyone else, Flint would appear unaffected but Silver can pinpoint the small movement of his shoulders and the quick twitch of his lips. He always did things his way, on his terms but then like a puzzle piece clicking into place, Flint meets his eyes. There is still that old anger that rests beneath but beyond that, he recognizes something else entirely. There’s a hidden softness that begins to evaporate the longer Silver stares at him.

“Now leave.” Flint barks.

Silver nods once, holding his gaze to try and root out what’s concealed. Flint’s eyes are daring him to find it and match it with his own. The moment didn’t last long for Flint cuts his eyes away when they’ve finished concealing the body. It’s then that Silver takes his leave and softly shuts the cabin door behind him.  

He hobbles through the dark creaking interiors of the ship and slumps inside his cot uncomfortably. Surprisingly, he does find sleep when the heavy exhaustion forces his eyes shut. He dreams of walking up the cliffside on the maroon island to meet the faraway figure smudged against the horizon. He didn’t know how many times he’s dreamt of this and it always ends before he can reach Flint, who waits as he did in memory, with his hands clasped behind his back. The long walk to him always felt like the end of something. When there are no more words left inside of a book to be read.  When the cover is on the verge of closing.

His eyes snap open to observe with sudden dread that Mr. Arrow stands above him. He’s staring down at Silver with a cold composed hint of a smile. The amusement is evident there, Silver can sense it more than see it.

“Nice of you to catch up on your rest. You’re late serving the crew their morning meal.”

Silver sits up and reaches for his crutch to find that it isn’t there. He glances over at Mr. Arrow who presents it in front of him and taps it once on the floor beside Silver’s foot. “It’s sturdy, well built. Did you build it?” 

Silver throws him a razor-sharp smile, “Not only can I cook but I can craft.” He lies and reaches for it but Mr. Arrow moves it away; dragging it on the ground. “So, you are a man of many trades?”

“I hear your talent is conspiracy theory.” Silver replies and keeps his smile achingly bright.

“Would you like to hear a new theory?” Mr. Arrow inquires and Silver is tempted to reach down for the small knife hidden in his boot.

“It seems I don’t have much of a choice, considering…” He replies coolly and nods at his crutch that Mr. Arrow is leaning on.

“I don’t think you are the only pirate on board this ship, there are more of you. You didn’t come here alone and I’ll be watching…Mr. _Little_.” Mr. Arrow sneers. He lets the crutch drop and it tumbles in front of Silver as he leaves. Silver snatches it from the floor as his smile tightens into a grimace.  

The air outside traps the heat below the thick mass of clouds. The sun is hidden and the wind sticks to Silver’s skin, leaving behind a thin sheen of sweat as he walks the main deck. Hands is an exhausted familiar sight.

“How did…it go?” Silver asks hesitantly quiet.

“As all things. He’s at the bottom of the sea.” Hands states and tosses a set of ropes aside from the wheel. Silver waits a moment before speaking again and observes the crewmen who appear scarce. He imagines they are all waiting for their meal impatiently below deck. “I need you to tell Flint something for me.”

“No.” Hands immediately replies.

“No?”

He speaks gruffly, “I ain’t your messenger.”

Silver huffs irritably, “I don’t have time for this, I actually have to cook. Tell him that Mr. Arrow paid me a visit to threaten me directly.”

Hands eyes him and rests his hand on his belt where his axe used to reside before they began this charade of civility. Before any more protests can be voiced, Silver steps away from Hands towards the Galley to the sharks that await him.

\--

The Hispaniola is a fast ship with a shallow draft for anchoring close to the shore and Flint surmises they will be arriving at Skeleton Island quicker than most ships could manage, which means, they’d have to take care of Mr. Arrow before they made landfall.

As soon as he steps out of the captain’s cabin he is met with the shrill ‘good morning’ of Dr. Livesey and the menacing scowl of Israel Hands who waits in the shadows to speak.

“How are things, captain? Any progress with Mr. Arrow? I spoke to him about tact and I do apologize again if he is not the most friendly of individuals.” Dr. Livesey asks but continues before Flint can speak, “I do believe he is rather envious. He had a desire to be captain but he had no experience in that regard.”

“All is fine, Dr. Livesey,” Flint states flatly and meets Hands’ eyes again from behind the doctor.

“Good, Good! I do hope the rest of our journey can remain smooth.” Dr. Livesey says with a grin.

“As do I. If you’ll excuse me…” Flint hints and Dr. Livesey replies, “Ah yes of course, good chat!” He almost pats Flint on the shoulder but pulls his hand back at the last minute.

As soon as the doctor leaves Flint’s expression hardens, “What do you want?”

Hands approaches him with that effortless confidence he exudes and replies quietly, “Best you go talk to Silver in the Galley.”

“I’m busy. If there is something you need to tell me then do so.” Flint snaps in a harsh whisper.

“You aren’t.” Hands adds tiredly and shakes his head before walking away from him to the main deck.

Flint glares after him and advances towards the Galley. The men inside quiet down their rowdiness when Flint makes his appearance but the demand remains. They aren’t pleased with Silver, that much is clear. He ignores their eyes that follow him and walks to the doorway of the kitchen. He had every intention to bare his teeth and dance around their cause and effect. He had every intention to punish Silver with more remarks that cut and watch the change falter in Silver’s eyes. He _had_ every intention.

Flint stands in the doorway caught between interrupting or watching the silent rush that is Silver's attempt to clumsily boil salted pork.  The anger is still there beneath his skin as it always is, waiting with impatience but now, he lacked the motivation to punish or eviscerate. He takes the moment to catalogue Silver’s movements without rage clouding his vision, does he favor his right side more than usual? Had he been injured? He’s still exceptionally nimble, more so then he was when they parted. His hair is tied messily back away from his face and his sleeves are rolled up his arms to his elbows. Flint’s heartbeat is steadily heightening and he thinks this is why he refused to stare too long into the abyss that is John Silver. He had given him power that no one should have over Flint, yet he can’t escape it. Silver drops a spoon with a curse and wipes his hands on the dirty apron tied around his waist. This isn’t the pirate king of Nassau, this is just _Silver_. The one his memories had no problem tormenting him with.

_My god, he missed him._

He allows himself that revelation before Silver finally meets his eyes with sudden surprise. Flint knows his guard is down and Silver realizes it in the few seconds their eyes meet.

“Did Hands send you here?” Silver breathes and sets a stack of wooden plates on the messy table.  

“Yes.” Flint replies and steps inside the room warily closer to Silver. “Is this about Mr. Arrow?”

Silver studies him before turning to grab a serving, “He paid me a visit this morning.”

He leaves Flint to begin dishing out the pork and ship biscuit to the ungrateful crew who complain at his appearance. Flint observes Silver’s balance between the crutch and the plates. This crew hasn’t taken kindly to him as the Walrus crew had but there isn’t much camaraderie to be found here. Once Silver returns from serving the final portion, he rips off his apron and tosses it against the table. His hair has partially fallen out of the tie and he brushes it away from his face. They blink at each other and Flint fights the urge to break eye contact and leave at once.

Silver whispers, “Mr. Arrow threatened me. He said he knew I wasn’t the only pirate on this vessel and I believe he means you.”

“I know he does but he can’t figure it out yet and it sets him on edge. He still believes Captain Flint is dead.” Flint supplies and Silver moves his crutch so he can lean towards the wall. It’s Flint that closes a little more of the distance between them and Silver watches him with quiet suspicion. He’s not sure what to make of Flint’s sudden openness and neither is Flint himself.

“Perhaps we should show him that he yet lives.” Silver suggests and there’s a spark beneath his bright eyes. It’s a dark awareness. That familiar geography they’ve mapped out between them.

“Perhaps.” Flint agrees and his eyes roam over Silver’s face unable to understand what he’s searching for. Silver could tell him, he always knew but Flint didn’t want to hear it. Not now.

“Here we stand at that edge again, you and I.” Silver says, softly. Flint can’t handle the blooming adoration in Silver’s expression and that old familiar twist in his gut. The room is becoming heavy, like a weight on the back of his neck.

“There is no edge.” Flint answers and steps out of the suffocating space that is Silver’s awareness.

The silence is marred by the raucous laughter of the crew in the background. He can hear Silver’s crutch pivoting. He could hear it even when he wasn’t in the room. He’d close his eyes and listen for the soft tapping. Flint quickly shifts the topic back, “Mr. Arrow is hiding something.”

“You think?” Silver questions. The tapping of his crutch grows nearer and he stands beside Flint again; crowding his space.

Flint steps a fraction back, “I think we should find out what he’s hiding and then be done with it. I’ve grown tired of this back and forth.”

“You actually think he’d be so inclined to reveal it to us?” Silver squints at him in disbelief.

Flint shakes his head, “No. I don’t, but it’s best to be thorough, don’t you think?”

Silver is far too close and he leans naturally forward towards him. He’s deep in thought, thinking on important, relevant things at hand while Flint is watching the way the shadows refuse to claim Silver’s face. Flint is thankful that Silver looks more or less the same, apart from the missing beard. He looks younger. It’s as if Flint stepped back in time and for a moment he can put away their tangled mess of betrayals.

“When would you like to---” Silver halts his words when he notices Flint studying him with a strange intensity again.

Flint asks so softly, “Are you going to take the chest from me? The last piece of the puzzle.”

Silver’s eyes darken with conviction, “Would that cast me as your villain?”

He moves closer to Flint and he’s tempted to back away from this madness while he’s still able.  Flint’s words are cutting and harsh, “What do you think, Mr. Silver? After what you’ve accomplished. It was an unforgivable thing.”

Silver breaks eye contact and sets his crutch underneath his arm. Flint watches all the color evaporate from his face as he stares at his boot. There’s a devastated vulnerability there that Flint wasn’t expecting or prepared for.

Silver’s voice wavers, “Madi couldn’t forgive me either.”

Flint’s sudden onset of viciousness begins to fade but the chance to answer him abruptly ends.

A shrill cheery voice blasts in the quiet room, “AH! There you are, you are requested on the main deck captain.” Dr. Livesey exclaims.

“Jesus Christ…” Flint mumbles with exasperation. Silver exchanges a quick unreadable glance with him before stepping out of his view.  

An unforgivable act, an irrevocable consequence, an unavoidable end. Flint understands why Madi couldn’t reconcile it but the truth of it is, is that Flint forgave Silver long ago. In that horrifying moment when silence set in and the realization struck him, that he would never speak or look upon that face again. His forgiveness was sudden and all-consuming from the days he left that jungle behind. He tried to whittle him down to something resembling one of his demons; his shadow, the villain that darkness had taken shape in. He tried to reshape Silver’s complexities into something simple. Something James Flint could hate and never fear. When in truth the opposite occurred. The anger is a steady unavoidable beast and he still harbors plenty for what was taken from him but forgiveness…that happened long ago.

\--

The waxing moon is blurred and bright beneath the thin veil of clouds that surround it. The light escapes in rays which alight Silver’s form in a glow. His back is to the sea and he’s hunched over his crutch. A forced smile fights its way across his lips when Mr. Arrow steps out of his quarters. His contempt for Silver is apparent in his dark eyes. “The hour is late, state your business.”

Silver’s smile evolves into an impish grin, “We have a lot to discuss.”

Before Mr. Arrow can sneer at him again Hands steps out of the shadows and throws a dark bag over his head. The struggle is quick, for Hands knocks him unconscious before he plummets to the ground. Ben appears beside Hands and nods at Silver before grabbing Mr. Arrow’s feet to take him back into his quarters.

Once inside the stuffy room, Silver takes a moment to study all which occupies it. There is a shelf of books, volumes of fancy editions and collector items. This room is filled with things one would purchase at an auction to boast but never open or dare crack the spine to read. The crimson blanket on the bed is stiff to the touch and Silver is half tempted to lie down in it. He’d stare up at the ceiling from the perfumed pillow and revel in his woe’s the way a lord would.

Ben is exceptionally good at tying knots and finishes securing an unconscious Mr. Arrow to a wooden chair. “Fetch, Flint.” Silver orders Hands, who throws him a glare but with no argument to spare.  He leaves and shuts the door quietly behind him. 

“Are we to kill him?” Ben asks and stands from double checking the knots. Silver nods in acknowledgement. It’s a certainty that Mr. Arrow isn’t leaving his antique tomb alive.

“If you could keep a lookout for us, Ben, it would be appreciated.” Silver advises and Ben heads for the door in agreement to leave him to the silence.

He produces a dagger from his belt and examines it in the shadowed candlelight. It isn’t anything special, but it was a gift from Muldoon. It even had Muldoon’s initial’s carved into the hilt. He had given it to Silver as a birthday gift. It was back in a time when Silver thought it was important enough to lie about birthdays, a time when a crew would waste rum celebrating a day which ordinarily would mean nothing. He sits down on the stiff bed as he grips the handle and rests it slack against his thigh.

The door clicks open and Silver keeps his eyes on the unconscious Mr. Arrow. Flint’s voice is surprisingly soft, “Everything alright here?”

“When he wakes we’ll give him time before we remove the gag.” Silver replies coldly.

 “Are you to do it then?” Flint asks and he knows he’s eyeing the dagger against his thigh.

“I’m cleaning up my mess, _captain_. It should be me.” Silver replies shortly and he can feel the stare Flint has for him burn across his skin. Their attention is diverted to Mr. Arrow who struggles awake. He pulls against his restraints futilely and blinks recognition at them both. He mumbles against the gag as his eyes darkened with fury.

Silver singsongs, “Hello, Mr. Arrow. We are delighted to have you join us on this fair weathered eve. You are quite the antique collector, must be a hobby of yours?”

Mr. Arrow looks between them both and fights against his bonds. The chair creaks from his efforts but nothing is gained.

Silver chuckles, “Oh, I’m sorry. We should be properly introduced. My name is John Silver and this is Captain Flint.”

Mr. Arrow ceases his struggle for a moment as his eyes slowly meet Flint’s in bewilderment, but Silver doesn’t look to see the expression he exchanges.

Flint speaks smugly, “You’re hiding something, Mr. Arrow. I sincerely doubt a man of your capabilities and stature would tether himself to someone as gullible as Dr. Livesey. I had thought at first that it was his money, Dr. Livesey is funding this venture, but there is something more at work here. You’re going to reveal it to us. If not, then we will slit your throat and be done with it.”

Mr. Arrow sits back in his chair and breathes heavily in the hushed silence. It’s then that Silver begins to notice a grin form beneath the cloth and his eyes snap to Silver. Flint picks up on the exchange and decides to remove the gag. Mr. Arrow didn’t yell or even try to struggle with his bonds any longer but he lets a smile grow on his lips until it stretches his face with hidden amusement. Silver finally exchanges a small glance with Flint and asks, “I see you have something you wish to share?”

“I’m a dead man, aren’t I? No matter what it is I speak?” Mr. Arrow questions and he seems calm, almost accepting to it.

Silver answers before Flint can, “We’re reasonable men. No matter what you were led to believe. There is a chance we can work something out.”

Mr. Arrow laughs softly, “No need to lie, I know what you are. I’ll be the honest one here and gladly tell you what you seek.”

Silver watches Flint’s expression falter into cautious confusion. They wait for Mr. Arrow to continue. His dead eyes find Silver’s again and he says, “You’ll be at the bottom of the sea soon enough.”

Silver slowly stands from the bed with his crutch and the dagger still rests in his hand. “What the fuck does that mean?” He questions and Mr. Arrow shakes his head before turning his gaze to Flint.

“I’ve planned this for quite a while. When Dr. Livesey retrieved the map, I sent word to a dear friend of mine, Captain Smollett. You must know that the Hispaniola isn’t the only ship that’s headed to Skeleton island, in fact the Erebus might be there already. I was to get the map and leave the Hispaniola in the hands of the Erebus. Captain Flint’s treasure was meant to be mine.”

Silver looks to Flint who acknowledges the dread grimly. It would seem their slew of problems were slowly multiplying. Silver knew Mr. Arrow could be lying, he knows he’s a dead man after all but there’s something in that cold grin of his that tells Silver this isn’t some last-ditch effort to get under their skin. He knows Flint recognizes the truth in it too and there’s nothing they can rightly do about it.

“We’re all dead men. I’m just sorry I couldn’t see either of you swing for it.” Mr. Arrow harshly supplies and puts an end to the topic at hand.

Silver limps closer to Mr. Arrow and his grip flexes on the dagger. He can feel the carved initials imprint into his palm. Flint grabs his arm, stopping him and Silver turns to glare at him. Flint’s eyes effectively search his face and the scrutiny is unwelcome. Silver rips his arm away from him angrily and steps out of his grasp. He couldn’t have this be yet another reason for Flint to berate him for not ‘doing the hard thing’ or being enough. He’s done passing that torch and he suspects the guilt will be minimal in this regard.

Silver claims darkly to both of the men that occupy this room, “The one thing that none of you seem to understand is that cache belongs to no one. It never has. It’s slipped through our fingers like sand and there are as many ghosts to claim it as there are gems.”

It’s but a moment later that Silver lifts the dagger to put an end to Mr. Arrow who flashes one last smile.  

\--

The moon now suffocates in darkness behind the clouds. There are no stars to be observed from the onslaught of it. Flint and Silver stand side by side and watch as Mr. Arrow’s body is given quietly to the sea. Their efforts unnoticed by the exhausted crew. 

Flint senses the heat from Silver’s shoulder meeting his and he knows the pain that radiates behind Silver’s feigned apathy. If Silver was trying to prove something, he knows it will do nothing for his conscience. Flint is meant to carry the weight and Silver is meant to channel the rage that follows. That is how things are settled and kept tethered. Silver begins to pivot with his crutch and Flint knows letting him retreat into the darkness will only serve to widen this chasm between them.

“I understand why Madi couldn’t forgive you,” Flint says, quietly and turns to face him. He expects the anger embedded in Silver’s features to answer back.

“Enough.” Silver snaps at him and Flint observes the shake of it in his shoulders. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“You will hear it.” Flint orders back and he watches Silver’s jaw clench; ready to erupt. This is the Silver of now, the Long John Silver, the student of pain.

Silver recites, “You do not forgive me. You never will, I’ve destroyed your purpose. Does that sound about right? I understand and I’ve heard enough. If you need someone to quarrel with, Hands is more than able.”

Silver moves his crutch forward and Flint grabs it to hold it in place.  He looks over at Flint with appalled surprise, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Listen to me…” Flint begins and Silver wobbles, on the verge of ripping his crutch out of Flint’s grasp. “..John.”

Silver’s rage suddenly falls from his face from the simple sound of his name and what’s left is the devastated hollowed hope beneath it.

“I raged. I tried to claw that hate out of myself that I wanted to have for you, I tried to reveal it but it wasn’t there.” Flint confesses and Silver’s eyes are filled with a confused vulnerability. It’s a fragile thing, easily broken. Flint could break him to pieces now if he truly desired. The fear revealed is a shared impediment between them. Silver’s words are low and accusing, “Does it ever confound you? All these different barriers you have to keep pushing up the cliff side?”

They’re hanging by a thread, dangling over that imagined precipice. Flint articulates, “I will not repeat myself, I’ve said my peace. If you believe it is a lie then wallow in your self-hate. I am not the cure for it. If anything, we are each other’s ailments.”

Silver slowly approaches Flint with the muffled tapping of his crutch. Flint steps back towards the railing and he can feel that old viciousness returning again like a cornered animal.

“We’ve never been a fixed thing, we’re constantly evolving and that’s why you’re trapped by it. By me.” Silver surmises with painful accuracy. His conviction wanes from the proximity of their faces and he watches as that familiar affection battles its way across Silver’s features through the rage. Flint can’t keep this up any longer, he had to move, he had to breathe but instead, he asks, “Why have you come here?” He knows the answer coincides with their current problem. Their dance and their evitable need for one another. 

Silver’s voice is loud and jarring in the quiet night, “To throw that fucking cache into the goddamn sea!”

They're sharing breath; dangerously close to that edge again.

“And why do you—” Flint begins on a snarl but is cut off suddenly by Silver’s lips capturing his. The abrupt fierceness of it pushes him dangerously against the railing. They could plummet into that abyss until they were nothing but thorns and mist. A strand of Silver’s hair tumbles onto Flint’s cheek and the kiss is their moorings come loose. Silver’s lips are warm and softly possessive. Everything Flint imagined them being against his. Their noses bump and Flint’s entire chest feels as though it could crumble inwards. There’s a need to collapse him into ruin with him. He grips the back of Silver’s neck forcefully and Silver parts his mouth beneath Flint’s on a shaky breath. He tastes what's given to him with his tongue and a shiver ripples through the skin beneath Flint’s hand. His teeth scrape and catch Silver’s lip, causing him to flinch from the sting of it. He cannot perceive this joining of breath as a kindness, it is when one fury must be matched with another. The years have twisted their adorations into monsters that only feed off the dark. There’s a need to consume and it’s not enough. Flint breaks off the deep heady connection by turning his head. Silver’s lips chase after his bared throat and Flint moves away, escaping the railing and the man he’s become so inevitably entwined with. Silver collapses forward, almost falling from the loss of contact. He uses the rail to balance himself when the crutch fails. He looks to Flint utterly lost as if he can’t fathom what just occurred. Silver’s eyes are glassy in the muted moonlight and Flint is entranced by the open rawness that still remains there. It is something that is only meant for him and what Flint wants most of all is to be trapped by it. He was ruined over Silver years ago when they were breathlessly smiling at one another under the sun.  When there was nothing but the crashing waves and clinking swords.

“I forgave you the moment we left that jungle. The moment we separated.” Flint speaks quietly and turns, leaving Silver to the torturous realization that there are no walls that can be built between them any longer. No matter what becomes of either of them once the cache is found, Flint knows he can’t destroy one half without destroying the other. The realization isn’t new but Flint knows that the only end that he wants for himself is either by Silver’s hand or beside him.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They will be arriving on Skeleton Island/Treasure Island soon! I should be updating this fic every Saturday until it's finished, unless something changes :) 
> 
> I'm @brassfannibal on tumblr and you can follow me for updates or piratey things. Thank you!


	9. The Maw

The ship sways and sloshes, tossing some of the men around like wet rats. The storm came upon them early that morning with ferocious intent. The sea is an angry bitter thing that pounds its fury against the hull. Silver lies in his cot swaying with the beats of thunder and reading absently by the flickering light. He had Ben start a rumor that Mr. Arrow had fallen overboard in the night with very few witnesses and that there was nothing to be done. _Some say he had been drinking and slipped._

Silver turns the page and waits for the sudden rattling to cease before he starts to read again.  He presses his lips together feeling the sting of the small cut that remains on his bottom lip. He attempts to banish thoughts from the other night. The way Flint’s lips slotted against his. The surrealism of the act made him question his sanity when sleep refused to find him. He remembers the warmth of his mouth and such a thing can’t be conjured. The smallest of wounds is the evidence.

“How the fuck can you read in this shit?” A drunk voice calls to him and he thinks the blunt crewman’s name is Sam.

“Try opening a book and see what happens. You may be surprised by what you find.” Silver snipes.

“Arsehole.” The man murmurs.

Silver precedes to turn another page, staring beyond the words to those deep crevices in his mind. The ship shakes violently almost toppling him out of his cot and he shuts the book on a sigh. To his surprise, Dr. Livesey fights his way through the teetering of the cots towards him and Silver sits up, grabbing a hold of his crutch that fell to the floor. There is no cheer in his demeanor and at first, Silver believes the storm spooked him, but he won’t hold eye contact with him. He notices the shakiness in the doctor’s palms and the sweat on his forehead.

“I know this may not be the best time but may I speak with you?” Dr. Livesey asks and Silver nods before standing. He follows him curiously to one of the storage rooms that are filled with stacked shipping boxes that are tied together with wet rope. Silver shuts the door behind them and they both scramble a moment when the ship rolls sideways. Silver latches onto the wall with his free hand and Dr. Livesey studies his crutch.

“What is it, doctor? Is this about Mr. Arrow? I’m sorry for what happened.” Silver says with sincerity and Dr. Livesey finally meets his eyes. The fearful reluctance makes his suspicions fester.

“Mr. Arrow told me about a theory before he…disappeared. I thought it to be nonsense of course but now…you must know I’m not as naive as some of you may think I am. I know that Mr. Arrow had worked out some sort of plan to steal the cache out from under me, I just didn’t know what it was. Did he share anything like that with you?”

Silver shakes his head, “Why would he share anything like that with me? We didn’t talk much as you well know. What was this theory?”

He sets his crutch in front of him and leans both hands on it casually, only revealing curiosity. The last thing Silver wished to do was to send the doctor to the sea. He may be bothersome and odd but beyond that, he didn’t deserve such a fate.

“It was about you. That you were once the pirate king of Nassau, Long John Silver. I, of course, thought it an absurd notion. You are…you’re a cook.” Dr. Livesey states as if he’s convincing myself.

Silver chuckles with a friendly openness, “A pirate king? Whatever gave him that idea?”

“I’m not sure. If I may, perhaps it’s the leg but beyond that…you don’t seem the ruthless sort. I had heard tell of the horrors that man created. It just struck me as odd when Mr. Arrow met his fate.”

Perhaps it’s Silver’s ego but he wants to press Dr. Livesey for what it was they said about him but that would only provoke more suspicion. Silver’s eyes widen in feigned offense, “You think I had something to do with Mr. Arrow’s death?”

 “Oh no, sir, I am not accusing. I am just merely stating the bizarre coincidence. If anything, I would not put it past one of the crew to have done it. Mr. Arrow was a difficult man.” Dr. Livesey replies anxiously and swallows. It’s obvious to Silver that he is lying and that his suspicions run deeper than he’s letting on.

“That he was. I wish there was something I could do to allay any concerns but I only know as much as you do I’m afraid.” Silver tilts his head and blinks at him with a small sympathetic smile.

Dr. Livesey huffs and returns a shaky grin. “No need, I was in need of some explanation. I apologize if I have offended.”

He turns to leave and Silver steps in the way of the door, keeping his friendly smile intact. Dr. Livesey looks perplexed by this action.

“Are you to take this to the captain?” Silver questions and Dr. Livesey opens his mouth to speak while studying his eyes with uncertainty. He knows that if the good doctor were to take this information to Flint then Flint would kill him and Silver was tired of feeding the sea at the moment. However, as of now, Dr. Livesey was the only person that suspected him.

“I do think he should know if there is foul play going on, don’t you?” Dr. Livesey asks.

“There is nothing to be done and it’s all hearsay. It’s hard to ferret out the truth of it among crewmen who don’t have your loyalty.” Silver replies truthfully and Dr. Livesey shakes his head in disbelief. He steps back slowly and says, “Mr. Arrow was right, wasn’t he?”

Silver isn’t well practiced at being honest. There are too many sharp edges to the truth and not enough ways to smooth the harsher reasonings. Now though, he didn’t have much of a choice.

“Mr. Arrow. The truth about Mr. Arrow is that he has a ship waiting at Skeleton Island to take the cache from you. I suspect he was going to kill you once we reached land. Don’t equate him with any worth, Dr. Livesey.”

“Dear god…it’s true then?” Dr. Livesey shrilly asks, his anxiousness collapsing into fear. The ship rocks as another large wave tumbles over her. Silver balances without much effort and Dr. Livesey nearly falls forward at his feet.

“What is?” Silver humors him.

“That…you’re him? You’re…”

Silver finishes it for him, “Long John Silver? I never was much for the title I have to say.”

Dr. Livesey backs into a stack of barrels and topples an empty crate to the floor, “How is this possible? A pirate king?”

“Well….not exactly. Not anymore at any rate and I truly don’t mean you any harm.” Silver speaks truthfully, even though the grip on his crutch tightens.

Dr. Livesey looks absolutely terrified and Silver squints at him grimacing. “I know it may be hard for you to trust my word.”

“Are you going to kill me? Please don’t kill me!” Dr. Livesey exclaims and holds his hands up in surrender.

“I’m telling you this to prevent your death. If you cooperate then you’ll live but if you panic and tell the captain of your own accord….then I can’t save you. Do you understand?” Silver stresses and tries to look sympathetic to the doctor’s predicament.

“Then there are others? More like…you on board?” Dr. Livesey hesitantly asks.

“Yes.”

That’s all it takes to set Dr. Livesey into a panic, hyperventilating and scrambling towards the door. Silver swiftly leans against the wall and uses his crutch to hit him forcefully against the back of his head. The doctor thuds to the floor unconscious as Silver sighs in frustration.

\--

The storm refuses to lessen and the sky remains a violent purpled gray. Silver studies the bland exterior of the captain’s cabin door for an extended period of time. His eyes follow the nicks and polished wood with disinterest. He hadn’t seen Flint since they shared a kiss and now he stands riddled with certain anxiety outside his quarters. It opens just as he’s about to knock and then he’s face to face with Flint who looks spooked at his appearance. “Mr. Silver…”

They linger just outside of each other’s spaces awkwardly as Silver thought they would. Flint is looking at him though, he hasn’t turned away. There’s hidden adoration in the small tick of his lips and the fragile expression makes Silver want to press his mouth to his again.

“Is there something you need?” Flint asks quietly and his eyes blatantly travel the length of Silver’s throat. Before Silver does something ridiculous, he blurts, “Dr. Livesey knows who I am.”

Flint’s eyes flicker up to his as the warmth is snuffed out and replaced with a growing snarl. He grips Silver’s shoulder and shoves him inside the cabin before slamming the door. Silver almost topples over but he’s nimble enough to recover before he falls to the floor.

Flint turns and advances towards him angrily, “How in the fuck did this happen?”

“I told him.” Silver says with a shrug and Flint’s jaw clenches as Silver continues, “he was suspicious.”

“You what?!”

Silver smiles at Flint slyly, “I have an idea.”

“You have an idea? You do realize we will have to kill him.” Flint replies darkly and unamused. In fact, if Silver wasn’t… _Silver_. He thinks he would have been thrown into the sea.

Silver continues, “No. No, you won’t, I can speak to him when he’s calmed but listen to me…”

“That man could rile up the crew and be the cause of a mutiny. Not when we are so close.” Flint admonishes.

“He won’t. Are you ready to listen?” Silver asks and blinks at him with an irritated grin. Flint closes his eyes against the display.  

“You’re infuriating.” Flint breathes.

“We should address the crew, and tell them—”

Flint interrupts, “Have you lost your fucking mind?”

Silver continues, louder “--- And tell them that Captain Flint awaits us on the island and wants his treasure. We cast Captain Smollett as the dread captain.” 

Flint shakes his head, “You think they will believe that Captain Flint is alive and on the island?”

“I’ve watched you tame beasts of men. This crew would be so easy to press under your thumb. Unless you feel you are out of practice?” Silver smirks and Flint’s glare is heated. It’s the usual dance; an old dance that makes him feel unbidden nostalgia.

 “What of Dr. Livesey?” Flint asks.

“I’ll talk to him, it’ll be fine.” Silver reassures. They stand there for a moment staring at one another in silence. Flint is waiting for him to leave but Silver doesn’t make a move to do so.

“Last night..” Silver adds and he watches the way Flint’s back goes rigid. He breaks eye contact and heads for his desk as if he has something important there waiting for his attention.

“We don’t have time to do this.” Flint replies and uselessly opens his captain’s log.

“When do we ever?” Silver asks with the shake of his head. His small smile begins to fade when Flint doesn’t reply. “Don’t do that…” Silver pleads. “Don’t close the door again.”

Flint slams the log shut and looks at him with hooded eyes from the shadows that claimed this room. “Do you imagine I could close anything off to you, even if I wanted to? You’d worm your way back inside. I’ve accepted it.”

Silver turns his back on him, closing his eyes against the coming argument. Flint’s right, they didn’t have time for this, whatever _this_ is. He limps towards the door and Flint quietly says, “What do you imagine will happen at the end of this journey, John? Are we just repeating history?”

Silver’s hand stills on the knob and he feels a chill reach inside him. “I leave that up to you.” Silver softly replies and turns it, opening the door.

\--

The Hispaniola still fought against the storm’s rage in its cradle. It was the long welcome before the foreboding jut of an island revealed itself again. They were going back in time, weren’t they? To repeat that history Flint insisted on. Silver used to be a survivalist above all but that was muddied along the road towards Flint’s trust. Now, Silver would see that goddamn cache destroyed even if it takes his own death to make that dream a reality.

Hands nods at him when he nears the storage room door. “Is he awake?” Silver asks.

“Yes. Kept cryin’ at me through the gag.” Hands says flatly and Silver pushes his way inside.

Dr. Livesey is a sweaty restrained mess. He’s sitting against the wall beside the toppled barrels. His eyes widen in terror at Silver’s entrance. Dr. Livesey is shaking his head violently as if he believes this is the end of his journey.

Silver holds up his palm to calm him. “I’m only here to speak with you. My plan never involved your death, you must understand.”

He moves closer to Dr. Livesey and removes the gag for which he receives a grateful huff before he speaks, “You’re a murderer, you’re all murderers. Why should I trust what you say, seeing as only hours ago I believed you to be just a cook?”

Silver knew he couldn’t be coerced by threats of violence. He needed a story. He needed something to relate to and bring to light these monsters who roam in the dark. Silver had seen Dr. Livesey’s personal book collection and he was a romantic at heart.

“Let me tell you a story, Dr. Livesey.” Silver says and reaches out towards the wall to properly lean his back against it. He moves his crutch and slowly slides down to the floor beside the frightened doctor.  It wouldn’t have done him any favors to be towering over him.

“A story?” Dr. Livesey asks, eyeing him with confusion.

“It’s about that cache that lies buried on that island.” Silver states sincerely.

“I know the story. Long John….you…killed Captain Flint when he wouldn’t give up his treasure.” Dr. Livesey’s voice cracks on the mention of his name.

“The truth of it…” Silver begins and studies his missing leg, absently. “I couldn’t do it. We had torn each other to shreds and yet…no matter how long I held that pistol in my hand, the notion of firing it escaped me.”

Dr. Livesey is silent for a moment before he fidgets and asks, “You didn’t kill him?”

Silver looks over at him, meeting his eyes again. “No. I didn’t.”

He watches Dr. Livesey’s fear begin to fade to the background and in its place, is cautious curiosity. “I had thought…from the stories…it suggested you had become enemies?”

Silver gives Dr. Livesey his best solemn expression and confesses softly, “I loved him.”

The words cracked his thoughts apart. He hadn’t meant to feel ripped open but he blinks against the onslaught and releases a small breath.

Dr. Livesey squints at him as if he’s unsure whether or not to believe him. “You…” the doctor starts but doesn’t continue.

“It’s a dangerous thing to say aloud. It doesn’t sound the way I thought it would.” Silver admits with a bitter laugh, more to himself than to the bewildered man in front of him.

Dr. Livesey rests his tied wrists in his lap and is watching him with certain wonderment. It seemed to be working at least. Although, it wasn’t much of an act to begin with.

“Captain Flint is still alive?” Dr. Livesey finally questions.

Silver’s smile is feigned as he says, “Yes, he is and he’s come to take your cache I’m afraid. You see, the ship Mr. Arrow sent for is unknowingly captained by Flint himself under the guise of Captain Smollett. That is why I joined your crew, to put a stop to him and to finish what I couldn’t before.”

“Oh dear god…this is…I cannot even fathom it.” Dr. Livesey mumbles and his eyes are wildly searching the room for something to grasp onto. Even in his subdued panic, Silver can sense a small thread of trust beginning to form between them. “You’ve not come for the treasure?” Dr. Livesey hesitantly asks.

“No. I never wanted it in the first place. I’ve come for Flint, you have my word for whatever it’s worth to you.” Silver’s mind swims in so many half-truths hidden behind lies.

Dr. Livesey looks a little relieved as the hope regains in his features, “You’re going to kill him then?”

Silver nods, “Yes and the cache is yours. To be quite honest, I despise that chest. Too much history there.” A small smile returns to his lips. Dr. Livesey warms to it with a simple nod and says, “I don’t really believe you are what they say, Mr. Silver. I’ve been guilty of such judgements.”

“Well, I did knock you unconscious and tie you up. Sorry for that. Can I trust that this new deal will hold?” Silver asks and holds out his palm for a shake. Dr. Livesey reaches out with his tied hands and grasps his carefully. Silver knows they’re still on shaky ground with one another and the trust is thin at best but it’s a productive beginning.

\--

By the time Silver hobbles to the main deck the storm is receding and only a small spit of rain remains. The crew is enraptured by Flint who stands among them with equal footing finishing his speech. Silver can marvel at how he’s convinced the men already. He told them that the island with its maw agape awaited them all and beckoned them to certain death. _Beware the dreaded captain Flint who may hide in the fog_. It was a ghost story of sorts but it had the crew where they wanted them. He couldn’t help but be taken in again by Flint’s words. He watches Flint’s coat swish around him with his movement and his eyes brighten as if captured by a flame. The tide that’s trapped in his ribcage fills and refuses to recede. Flint catches Silver’s eyes once in a flicker before ending his speech. The men are spooked and intrigued, they scatter with whispers and questions amongst themselves. Silver moves up beside Flint who is staring off into the foggy horizon.

“We’re close. We have to keep a lookout for the Erebus.” He says.

“You and I both know this was never about the cache. So why keep up this charade any longer? Why not just let me toss the fucking thing into the sea where it belongs?” Silver questions and watches Flint carefully. There’s a hint of sorrow in his eyes and a pinched expression on his face. Silver feels his heartbeat pick up speed and he pivots to face him. The implication is a simple one, one he didn’t notice before but it’s obvious to him now. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Flint turns to look at him with that sorrow now projected at him. It terrifies Silver. He’d rather have his rage. He’d rather have his words that eviscerate.

“We should prepare, we will sight the island soon enough if the fog will allow it.” Flint replies tightly and Silver shakes his head. He grabs Flint’s shoulder as he’s about to step away and holds him there. His fingers dig into the material unforgivingly.

“What are you keeping from me?” Silver asks with hidden desperation and searches his face for the answers that aren’t there.

Flint opens his mouth to speak but his eyes catch something beyond Silver. Beyond the thick ethereal fog is the dark mass that is Skeleton Island and it’s awaiting their arrival. The mist seems to part for them and climb up onto the ship, wrapping itself around the masts. Silver turns to face the island that’s more like a creature resting above the water. He releases his hand from Flint’s shoulder as if giving him permission to leave.

“We will discuss it later.” Flint states and Silver shuts his eyes. The temperature seems to have dropped significantly and he found himself shivering from the damp air.

“When is that? When we are in that fucking jungle again?” Silver inquires irritably.

“Everything is moving forward, John. We set this in motion and we can’t stop it now.” Flint adds solemnly before taking his leave.

Silver’s eyes find the island again ahead of them as the other crewmen begin to gather and point towards it.

“They say it’ll swallow ships whole.” One of the men claims.

Silver isn’t in the mood to listen to all the thrumming paranoia that wretched island produces. He heads up to the quarterdeck away from the others and grips onto the railing. He isn’t ready to repeat the cracking of his heart again. Could Flint still have his war? Is that truly why he’s here? Some part of Silver had hoped that all of this was a ruse to get him to come out of hiding. A way for Flint to say he missed him in a twisted elaborate scheme. That is why Silver is doing this ultimately. That and to see the cache disappear from their lives for good. How long had it mapped out their futures? Before it evolved into the cache when it was the Urca gold. When a poor dead Spaniard named Vasquez decided their fates. There is nothing but hate left inside him for such a thing.

Flint is taking them along the southern tip of the island where the mile-wide strait resides. It’s there that Silver guesses he had planned to anchor the ship but the wind slowly dies away from their sails as if it’s being eaten up by the fog. The crewmen shout to each other about the unfortunate development. In a moments breath, they are becalmed in the still water.

Silver observes the ripples in the sea ahead and recognizes the current. He moves away from the railing as Flint joins him on the quarterdeck, his eyes fixed ahead.

Silver advises, “The current looks to be moving westward. If we use that to our advantage and have men in boats tow us to the strait then we can get her anchored.”

Flint’s expression twitches in thought and he squints at the dark gnarled island just out of their grasp. He turns towards the lip of the deck where he calls for volunteers to tow the ship. The anxious crew eagerly jump to their aid in lieu of something to occupy their growing dread.

“I don’t want us to be out in the open in case the Erebus rears her ugly head,” Flint adds.

“If I were to guess, they may very well be on the other side of the island. Perhaps they plan to take advantage of the jungle.” Silver replies.

Flint nods and says quietly, “Are you out of practice?”

Silver turns to him and their eyes meet with casual reluctance. Flint’s hands are clasped behind his back in his naval officer stance, for which Silver can’t help but admire, despite the growing tension surrounding the two of them.

“It’s been a while since I’ve used a sword if that’s what you’re asking.” Silver admits.

The innuendo notwithstanding, Silver forces his face to remain neutral and Flint’s stoicism has always been effortless.

“Once we make camp on the shore, we’ll practice,” Flint suggests openly and Silver wants to release the smile he holds prisoner but he didn’t.

“Then you’ll tell me what you’re hiding?” He prods.

Flint hesitates and studies Silver’s face with uncertainty but he says nothing in return. They stand in silent juxtaposition. The fog has blotted out their shadows but Silver imagines they’d be molded into one.  Flint turns his attention to the rowboats that will guide them into the strait.

“I’ve always ever wanted you by my side, no matter how broken we’ve become.” Flint’s voice is soft and surprisingly vulnerable. Silver can’t take his eyes off of him nor can he form the words that are adequate enough for a reply.

They stand in that in-between space with their arms brushing at the jaw of this beastly isle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of Skeleton Island ahead ;) I hope you are continuing to enjoy this as much as I'm enjoying writing it! Thank you!
> 
> I'm @brassfannibal on tumblr, follow me for piratey things and updates :)


	10. Into the Undertow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a warning: this is the chapter that officially turns the rating of this fic from mature to explicit. So, obviously, there are sexy times and sparring abound.

The tomb that is Skeleton Island welcomes them with indifference. Flint’s muddied boots splash in the shallow waves of the dreary shore. He squints at the dark tree line and motions for the crewmen to set up camp against the foliage. Silver sets his crutch in the wet sand and hops out of the rowboat. Flint can sense the apprehension born from this place. The history that’s claimed them both.

It begins to rain not long after their arrival and the wind is merciless. It cuts through their efforts and makes it difficult to pitch proper tents. Flint spots Dr. Livesey stumbling in the stand and dropping a pile of wet books. He imagines persuading the doctor was simple even if he was curious as to how. People tend to fall for Silver’s guile easily. None of them ever see the man beneath the smile though. Flint used to swell with pride because he was one of the few that knew that man, but now, when that smile doesn’t reach his eyes he can see the broken pieces beneath. They match his and he thinks somewhere along the way they’ve gotten them mixed up. They’ve given each other pieces of themselves without consent.  Flint is one of those hapless individuals to be taken in by Silver’s charm but he’s just on the other side of it. He recognizes it and can use it to wound and manipulate.

He spots Silver again down the shore a ways speaking with one of the men securing the tents.  He looks back at Flint across the great space of sand between them. This can’t be their end, can it? After all this time?

“I’ll stick a sword in your throat before history repeats.” Comes the gruff voice that’s barely audible over the howling wind.

Flint’s hair is plastered to his forehead from the rainfall and he pushes it from his eyes. He faces Hands with a hint of amusement and replies, “You can try, but as I remember it, I defeated you the last time.”

“You ain’t gonna be the death of him.” Hands grumbles and is unbothered by the pummeling wind. He stands there against it like an ever-present statue.

“You really think that is something I desire, Mr. Hands?” Flint snips. His mood is quickly souring from the direction of this conversation.

“So eager to find meanin’ in a box of rocks in the ground.” Hands replies with a small cruel smile just for him. Flint glares as he watches him head back towards the crew fighting against the jaws of the wind.

Out beneath the blanket of rainfall, he spots two swords sticking out of the sand beside a crate of food. Flint hesitates and then approaches as if it’s a mirage. The wind whips through his path, carrying his hair towards the sky wildly and all he can do is fix his eyes forward. They are ordinary swords with ordinary craftsmanship but there are two of them, side by side.  It’s an invitation between what he desires and wishes to avoid. He grabs them both before he goes mad with indecision and carries them together away from camp. The sand kicks up with his boots and he eyes a small clearing behind a jutting rock. It’s not a cliff but it would do well enough to spar in.

Flint remains in the stilled quiet, letting the rainwater collect in his eyelashes. He lies to himself easily but the lies don’t stick as well as they used to. In truth, Flint wants a little moment of peace and that peace can only exist with one ingredient.

\--

Night comes stealing away the wind but leaving the rain to dampen the air. Silver limps up the dark beach and nods at Dr. Livesey who quietly acknowledges him while reading a book beneath the moonlight. Flint had made it clear that starting any fires was out of the question and that they would remain unseen against the dark shoreline. Silver passes by a group of spooked men who speak of hearing soft singing in the forest beyond; like a lullaby. He found himself listening despite the absurdness of it and heard nothing but the pattering of rain.

“It was the voice of an angel!” One of them exclaims, awestruck.

Silver’s hair drips down his neck, soaked by that signature suffocating precipitation this place produces. His clothes are uncomfortably wet and there isn’t much that can be done about it. Not to mention, Silver truly despised maneuvering his crutch through the sand. He heads towards an empty tent as he breathes heavily in the humid air. He wouldn’t be able to sleep this night but lying down seemed preferable to fighting the sand. As he reaches for the flap he hears, “John…” quietly behind him.

He pivots slowly to see Flint standing there lit up by the dim moon. His hands are clasped behind his back and his eyes are warm despite there being no smile on his face. Silver isn’t sure he’d ever get used to the way his heartbeat quickens when Flint calls him by his first name.

“Something you need?” Silver asks, attempting to appear apathetic to his quiet intrusion.

“As we move forward we won’t have much time to ponder and I was wondering if you would like to join me..” Flint asks and produces a sword from behind his back. It reflects the cloudy starred sky along the edge. Silver could say no and watch the vulnerability falter into something resembling hurt. He could demand that Flint tell him all his secrets before doing any such thing but Silver is exhausted with this fury. He needs reprieve and this is it.

“I would bet you’re a little rusty yourself.” Silver answers and a tired smile grows on Flint’s lips.

They walk beyond the camp behind a large protruding rock that slices far into the sea. There’s a small clearing of dried brush overlooking the shore and Flint strolls towards it as if he had this whole thing planned. Silver is grateful they won’t be sparring in the sand at the very least. He follows the silhouette he’s permanently tethered to and observes as Flint removes his coat. He sets it neatly beside a pile of twigs covered in dead moss. He looks to Silver hooded with expectation as if he’s waiting for him to do the same. He follows suit, shucking the dirtied coat off of his shoulders and tosses it onto the ground inelegantly. They stand in front of one another as if exposed; as if they are the midnight reflected.

There is something else at work here buried in their shoulder blades, aligned. The tension is a taut bowstring. He remembers the last time they stood with swords between them and the anguish he had harbored. He had given it back to Flint with his fury.

“Begin,” Flint instructs.

The clinking is familiar; the hard cut of metal on metal. He blocks an incoming blow and Flint looks pleased by the progress. It’s been a while since he’s fought anyone but the skill is still there. A skill he honed from the very man in front of him. Silver goes to strike but Flint is quick and their swords meet in a flurry. The tandem didn’t cease, they held this dance with timed breathing.

“Time has been kind to your abilities.” Flint compliments and Silver manages a smile for him. Not soon after, Flint swings quick and taps Silver shoulder with a grin. Silver shakes his head in a huff and the clinking continues unabated. The questions, the betrayals, the whirling ether of doubt still surrounds them but it’s background noise. Silver lets him into his space and Flint compliments his footing. This is something more than they were before. This is a culmination of all the pieces they’ve given to one another. Silver manages another parry and Flint deflects his sword with a small laugh from his shoulder. They were painting something new over the history here. With each swing, they grow closer to one another until Silver blocks him yet again and Flint pushes himself into Silver’s space. The moonlight grants them enough ethereal brightness to illuminate their shadowed forms. Their swords meet without malice between them and their position holds. Flint’s eyes find Silver’s and he recognizes the heady desperation possessing those features. There is only a breath of time before Silver realizes that Flint’s sword has dropped purposely to the ground with a soft thud and he’s colliding his mouth with Silver’s.

Silver’s sword is quickly forgotten and he stumbles against his crutch from the force of it. Flint’s hands cradle his face and his tongue pushes past his parted lips. It’s a rough sharing of breath but it isn’t out of rage. This is something that Flint has let loose into the world, onto him. Something Flint has kept buried. Silver crumbles under the raw insistence of that mouth on his. He claws at Flint’s shoulders, on the verge of falling from the pressure. The crutch can’t contain them both any longer and their lips break apart with shared grunts as Silver falls backward onto the dried grass. Flint follows, tumbling onto him uncoordinated. Silver laughs shakily and Flint persists by pressing his mouth to Silver’s jaw. He trails his lips to his exposed collarbone. He can feel the heat of Flint’s breath when he speaks against Silver’s skin, “You’ve ruined me. What have you done to me?”

Silver’s heart trips and collapses into itself, straining against his ribcage. He could push Flint into the dirt with him, force him to stare up at the stars but he doesn’t. He lets this be. Flint’s hand moves down his stomach and connects with Silver’s belt. He pauses and lifts his head to peer down at Silver. Flint’s hair is wild, his cheeks rosy and his eyes alight with something more precious to Silver then fire. He looks beautifully feral and if Silver wasn’t painfully hard already, he would have been, simply by observing the creature that is James Flint. Silver reaches up and grips onto his neck, sliding his fingers into Flint’s hair and pulling his lips back down to his. Flint’s fingers slip underneath Silver’s belt without preamble to the coarse hair beneath. Silver jolts against him from the movement and releases a breathy curse. Flint’s teeth gently latch onto his lip before Silver collides his tongue with his, tasting the coruscating sweat. Flint’s hand moves to the inside of his thigh agonizingly slow before finally enveloping his cock and he can’t think of anything but that blackout brilliance that it conjures. How long had it been since Silver had wanted Flint to touch him, to be molded into him? It’s unfathomable that this isn’t a cruel trick. He grips Flint’s shoulder again, stressing the material beneath his palm as Flint guides him into a rhythm with his fist that has Silver panting into his mouth. He has wanted this for far too long and the reality of it makes him dizzy with exhilaration. He wouldn’t last long, not with Flint touching him.

“Christ..” Flint breathes against his lips and he watches Silver, enraptured in shadow. He pumps his palm slowly over the head to draw out a quiet keening whine from Silver. He knows this isn’t nearly enough, they needed more of each other, they always needed more of each other. Silver’s head falls back towards the sky and he shakes apart at the seams but it’s Flint that softly groans, with his mouth pressed in the crook of his neck. Their chests heave in an erratic alliance. Flint’s lips brush against his pulse and slide softly back to his jaw before he peers down again at Silver with those heated green eyes. There is a disquiet uncertainty there. He recognizes those thoughts as if they are his own. He plucks them out and labels them like seedlings. It’s Silver that lowers his hand to Flint’s belt with every intention of returning the favor. Flint bends down to meet his lips again when a large twig snaps in the jungle beyond. It’s enough to spook them both apart. Flint stands, wobbly and nearly falling into the dirt again. Silver slowly sits up feeling snapped loose and disorientated. They had been forced back into the reality of the situation. All the questions come tumbling back to the forefront of Silver’s mind. Flint lifts his crutch from the ground and hands it to him before immediately stalking back towards the camp. He didn’t leave a single space for Silver to speak.

He slowly pushes his crutch into the grass and forces himself to stand. His hair is a knotted mess across his eyes and he runs his fingers through to tame it. Another twig snaps closer to his position and he picks up his sword from the grass. Nothing comes bursting from the trees, whatever it was remains in darkness. Silver heads back to the camp in a bewildered daze. They were always headed here beneath the fog in this humid jungle. As much as he wants to find Flint’s tent, the future hovers like a tempest on the horizon.

The same group of spooked men are still telling myths to one another in the dark. One of them calls to Silver as he passes them, “All of us been wonderin’ how you lost your leg?”

Silver doesn’t bother to stop, he keeps limping onward, “I fought a shark.” He supplies and it wasn’t exactly a lie. He hears the men whispering amongst themselves before he slips inside one of the tents. He doesn’t tell them that he lost it defending a crew of dead men.

He lies on the small cot that doesn’t sway with the sea and he thinks on those men. Their faces are slipping from him and time is the cruel culprit. He shuts his eyes and dreams of sending those men into this very jungle. Those men that would die for him, did die for him. He feels the heat of the burning hull of the walrus against his skin and jerks awake to a hand being pressed to his shoulder. He blinks at Ben who is hovering above him whispering his name softly.

“What is it?” He asks, barely awake.

“The Captain wants to travel further up the coast, Mr. Silver,” Ben replies before disappearing from his sight.  

\--

The ragged trees caress the puffy sky like fingers. Flint observes the darkness of the jungle beyond where light never reaches and leads the crew on the beach around the brush. He knew that Captain Smollett is more than likely at the north edge of the island lying in wait. He wanted to avoid the depths of that darkness for as long as possible.

He can hear the sound of the crutch stabbing the sand, struggling to catch up with his stride. Flint didn’t slow for him but Silver manages. He always does. Perhaps he wished to avoid him a bit longer because glancing at him provokes his heart.

Silver says breathlessly from beside him, “Are we to skirt around the whole island?”

“I suspect Captain Smollett is on the north edge, there’s an inlet there,” Flint replies and looks ahead at the large arch formations ahead. A crab skitters quickly towards the tide away from their group and disappears in the water beyond.

“Why not just head for the cache?” Silver asks snippily and Flint didn’t miss the vicious edge the conversation is heading towards.

“We must take care of Smollett first, we don’t want to get caught in that jungle with his men,” Flint advises and Silver struggles with his crutch but he doesn’t ask Flint to slow down. He wouldn’t dare do that.

“Convenient for you, I’d say.” Silver articulates.

Flint clenches his jaw but he lessens his pace a little to ease the heavy breathing beside him. 

“Think what you like but this is the best solution.” Flint states and the soft puncturing of the crutch is all that’s heard between them for a time. If Flint could, he’d keep pretending that this entire endeavor won’t eventually tear them in two.

Silver says harshly, “We’re back to this again.” The limping stops and he can hear Silver fade behind him, falling back to the crew.

Once the sun is high in the sky and peeking through the clouds, they stop beyond the grand archway of rock. Flint finds Ben who stands to attention at his presence and asks him to dole out the rations. The men are exhausted from hiking in the humidity and Flint has a need to force them onward. He would have if he didn’t harbor an irritating concern for the cook.

“Captain, might I a word?” The small voice says from beside him and Flint meets Dr. Livesey’s nervous eyes. He’d guess the man is in a perpetual state of anxiousness.

“Yes?”

“I’m guessing from what’s occurred that you’ve spoken to –” Dr. Livesey begins but Flint gets a sort of rude pleasure out of interrupting him. “Yes, Mr. Silver has informed me of all. That his identity is to stay between you and I. That he is to find Captain Flint. You are keeping to the deal?”

Dr. Livesey nods quickly and licks his lips, “But you are not bothered by knowing that he is in fact, Long John Silver.”

“Myths, Dr. Livesey. They tend to create garish notions of worth and attribute anything but fact. Mr. Silver is just a man and so is Captain Flint.” Flint replies truthfully and it seems to calm the doctor’s features.

“I am fascinated by it I must admit. I want to ask him everything. I suspect he has great knowledge of the old Nassau.” Dr. Livesey says looking out towards where Silver is in the sand. He’s sitting alone on the beach with his boot towards the rolling tide. Silver’s hair caresses his face from the blessed breeze and Flint holds the image in his mind. He keeps it locked away for when time decides to claim it.

“You could ask him. I’m sure he has plenty of stories to relay.” Flint adds as his stoicism slips.

“Did you know him before this?” Dr. Livesey chances and Flint breaks his gaze away from the beach. He hadn’t realized how affectionate he’s beginning to sound.

“No, but I’ve known men like him.” Flint rescues and hardens his demeanor.

“It’s fascinating.” He repeats wistfully. “Even the partnership between him and Captain Flint is more complicated then I imagined.”

Flint blanches at that and blinks against the sun before he turns his attention back to Dr. Livesey who is still looking out towards Silver as if he’s a monument to be revered. “He spoke to you about that?”

“Oh yes, not in detail mind you but I suspect he told you something similar.” Dr. Livesey replies and moves his eyes away from the lone figure on the beach to Flint.

“What did he tell you?” Flint asks calmly, although his mind is swimming with an embarrassing amount of questions.

Dr. Livesey replies promptly, “It’s not really my business to spread gossip. I would venture to ask him yourself.”

Flint squints at him perplexed by the wording but he didn’t press further. He’s supposed to be Captain Barlow after all.  

“Excuse me,” Flint says and walks up the beach, leaving Dr. Livesey behind. The sun greets his back like a wet blanket and he heads towards Silver who is still facing the sea.

“Are we to head out?” Silver asks flatly and reaches for his crutch. Flint immediately sits beside him, which catches Silver by surprise and they make eye contact for the first time all day. The moment is a fleeting tender one that wraps him up in its vise. Flint wants nothing more than to kiss him breathless in this moment; the men beyond them be damned.

He catches Hands’ grumpy scowl from further down the beach as he observes him walk back towards the jungle. That man is Silver’s very own loyal wolf. As much as he believes Israel Hands despises him, Flint can’t help but begrudge him some respect.  

“Will you join me later?” Flint asks as he slides his gaze back to Silver who snaps his bright eyes to his.

“For what?” Silver inquires and the irritation from earlier wanes in him. The waves crash up the shore breaking apart the background noise from the crew.

“Once we reach that rockface..” Flint points and waits for Silver to follow his eye line. “we’ll make camp and we can do a bit of practice.”

A small smile fights its way across Silver’s lips before he attempts to hide it again, “Is that what we’re calling it?”

Flint feels his face heat up of all things and asks irritatingly, “What would you call it?”

“Is that…are you blushing, captain?” Silver asks leaning back and this time he releases that grin. It isn’t Silver’s patented manipulative one, this is warmer, different. _His_. Flint isn’t sure when he had decided to lay claim to his smiles.

“We are right beneath the accursed sun,” Flint replies with a smirk but it slowly fades as he watches the amusement from Silver’s face fall.

“Are you going to tell me what you’re hiding? Or are you going to keep distracting me? Because it’s working.” Silver recites to the waves and the tension from earlier comes rolling back.

In truth, Flint is postponing the fury for as long as he can. “We will speak later,” Flint says as he stands, releasing grains of sand back onto the beach where they belonged. Silver closes his eyes and says nothing in return.   

\--

The sun begins its descent towards the horizon. Silver limps along the sand, eyeing a flock of birds that take flight towards the jungle. Those darkening trees are menacing as if they could pull him into the deep. They could pull him back in time to the spot where everything crumbled. It’s the thing Silver fears most of all, out of everything. He fears repeating the agony and the _knowing_ he may never be enough for Flint. How could he be? Silver isn’t an idea, a war to be waged to reconcile some lost purpose. He is merely a man and to some, a half-a-man.

Silver is exceptional at burying things deep enough that they are etched onto his bones. So, he will take what he can get in the moment. He will be Flint’s outlet as he always has been. He will give Flint the pieces that are left of him in return.

They make camp against a moss-covered cliffside that looms above them like a tower. The men are quietly exhausted and it’s during times such as these that he misses the crew of the Walrus. He misses the crude boisterous rum soaked nights that had him laughing at the absurdity of it and sometimes partaking.  The beach is filled with too much silence this night.

He spots the shadowed figure of Flint heading up the path towards the cliffside as if he knew Silver would notice. A warmth pools in his gut and he moves his crutch in the sand towards the pathway. The sky is nearly cloudless and he can pinpoint the constellations above. They all lead him to the same place, the same figure, waiting at the top. It’s as if they are on the precipice of freeing Nassau again and Silver is limping up towards Flint who is facing the sea with his hands clasped behind his back.

This cliffside is different than the one on the maroon island. It’s filled with mossy sand and the tree-scape behind him didn’t lead to the comfort of the maroon camp. It led to an unknown. There’s a screech far off in the canopy of leaves that Silver is unable to identify nor desired to.  There are too many ghosts here, even if Silver didn’t carry a ship full of his own to this place.

Silver makes it to the top and eyes Flint’s back with quiet deliberation. There are two swords waiting for them in the sand. Silver knows from the last time they sparred that they didn’t need the practice but where is the fun in pointing that out?

“What are you looking at?” Silver repeats a question from an age ago.

“Smollett’s scout.” Flint supplies and Silver limps up beside him as his face falls a little. Flint points to a flashing lantern light far into the dark. Silver replies, “It seems they are on the lookout.”

“Which is why it’s imperative that we not build any fires,” Flint advises and turns to look at Silver with a surprisingly open warmth. Silver returns it with a small smile easier then he thought he could manage. He turns away from Flint and limps towards the swords. A strand of hair falls loose across his forehead and he brushes it behind his ear before grabbing the hilt of the nearest sword. “I think I’ll have you tonight.” Silver says, tossing out the double meanings and Flint smirks at him.

“Is that so?” Flint asks and snatches the sword gracefully from the sand. “Begin?”

Silver nods and immediately swings forward, surprising Flint with the force of it. The familiar clinking lulls Silver into a false sense of comfort. He gains a certain pleasure from watching Flint’s perfect form match itself against his and is enamored by the hint of a smile he recognizes on Flint’s lips.

Silver is no stranger to being attracted to men. He’s used it to his advantage sometimes to gain information from someone or to quell a basic a need for contact. He had his fair share of rushed attempts on the Walrus even but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about Flint during that time.

Flint is brutal with his swings, he isn’t holding back and Silver is thankful for that. He deflects a shoulder tap he can see coming and Flint looks exceptionally pleased. They lean into one another and Flint glides into his space again. Silver catches his eyes traveling down the length of his throat along the exposed skin and he takes the opportunity to swing twice forward quickly. It’s the closest he has come to defeating Flint but Flint is too quick. He steps back in breathless realization at just the right moment to deflect his attack. They stand there, broken apart, ready to begin again. Silver’s never been that shy about what he wants and the confidence of the statement breaks up the quiet breathing, “I want to taste you.”

But _my_ god he did. He can’t stop thinking on it. Ever since a night ago when they opened up this thing to new possibilities between them, possibilities that should have occurred years ago. Flint’s eyes darken and the silhouetted heave of his shoulders frames the cliff's edge. Flint sticks his sword in the sand and it sways beside him. Silver slowly mimics the movement and pushes his crutch forward. There is always a synchronicity to their movements as if they are puppets pulled by invisible strings. Flint remains, waiting as he approaches him with an unmatched patience.

Silver’s heart has reached an uncontrollable rhythm as it often did when it came to Flint. He reaches forward and grabs hold of Flint’s shoulder which catches him off guard. Silver lets his crutch drop to the sand from his grip and he stumbles into Flint’s chest. He needed to touch him with both hands. Flint’s arms wrap around his waist, now the only anchor to keep him upright, and they struggle awkwardly with the position. Silver’s desperation is aptly on display as he grips the material of Flint’s shirt and uses his other hand to softly touch Flint’s cheek. It’s oddly tender and Flint’s eyes shine under the adoration. It’s Silver that connects their mouths in a tentative soft kiss before Flint parts his lips to welcome his tongue.

This thing between them is a dangerous aberration. One Silver has been unable to let go of in the wake of the destruction they wrought. One cannot survive without the other. He knows this and the dependency used to terrify him. Now, beneath the night, Silver wants his mouth to pull him into the undertow. He forces Flint backwards with his tongue and teeth. They tumble to the ground softly and Silver breaks apart their kiss to tear at Flint’s belt.  He’s watching Silver with a rosebud blush to his parted lips and cheeks. His freckles are prominent against the stunning flush and Silver is entranced by the exposed expression of utter arousal.

Silver frees Flint’s cock from his trousers and Flint releases a muffled whimper when his palm encircles the base. He watches Flint’s eyes with an insatiable grin and Flint’s affectionate annoyance is apparent with the deliberate slow slide of his palm against the shaft. “I knew you’d be a shit.” Flint supplies as his breath hitches.

“Thought about me doing this often, have you?” Silver questions low and sly. His own cock is pressing against Flint’s leg as if to punctuate his confidence.

“…yes” Flint manages, eyeing him. Silver bends down, his hair cascading over his shoulders, and it tickles the exposed skin. His grin grows as he hovers over him but Flint can’t seem to form the insult he wishes to toss at him. Silver finally presses his lips to the tip and hollows out his cheeks. He immediately sucks him down into the tight unforgiving heat of his mouth and Flint breathes a loud curse.

It’s been a while since Silver has done this but its Flint and he is nothing but eager to please. His tongue enthusiastically traces the underside of his cock as his lips descend in a soft rhythm. Silver had spent an embarrassing amount of time imagining what Flint tasted like and the reality of it is anything but a disappointment. He looks up at Flint through his dark lashes to see those pupils blown wide by the light of the moon. It isn't long before his jaw begins to ache from lack of practice and he pops his lips off once for a moment to reorient.

“Jesus Christ you’re...” Flint begins in a complimentary tone but doesn’t finish. With Silver’s insecurities unintelligibly answered, he wraps his lips around the head again and works him deeper to the back of his throat. Flint’s hand is scrambling for purchase and he grips onto Silver’s hair, pulling once, eliciting a moan that vibrates against Flint’s cock. The slight pain from the grip Flint has on his curls is intoxicating, he wants him to pull harder and expose his neck to the stars.

It isn’t long until Flint’s chest is rising quickly and he bucks up from the sandy moss further into Silver’s mouth. He nearly chokes against the onslaught but he encourages the thrusts with the flick of his tongue. Flint is fucking his mouth and the view is obscenely exquisite. To see Flint in this way, so utterly vulnerable and breathless is the keenest pleasure Silver’s known. He’s attempting to speak but Silver drowns him out with a lewd sound of enjoyment. His grip tightens in Silver’s curls and it’s a painfully adamant warning before the release. The warm liquid hits Silver’s tongue and thickly gathers in the back of his throat. He swallows all that he’s given and Flint throws a steady stream of curses out into the night. Silver releases his lips from Flint’s cock and sits up with a small shaky smile. Flint is in the delirious aftermath of pleasure but he reaches out for Silver as if he wishes for him to move closer.

He squints at Flint in confusion and climbs up his body until they are face to face. Silver presses his chest to his and hovers over him with his hair sheltering them from the stars like a canopy. Flint’s eyes read him like an old book with the spine cracked open. Their lips meet again in quiet gentle regard. It makes the tide in Silver’s chest recede and it sets his thoughts into a whirlwind of ridiculous sentiment. Flint’s fingers move through his curls reverently as if he’s something to put to memory. Silver breaks apart the kiss to Flint’s dismay before he loses himself to the madness and moves to sit up properly. He remains sitting casually in the moss wishing not to crawl to his crutch in front of Flint. Silver observes him tuck himself back in his pants and sit up with tiny pieces of grass matted in his hair.

He’s expecting to be ignored, he’s expecting Flint to stand up and leave him here on this cliff but Flint didn’t move. He turns to look over at him with a subtle questioning expression. Silver waits for the storm, for the words that cut.

“Why didn’t we do this years ago?” Flint asks quietly but there no amusement or even a smile on his face. He’s truly perplexed why this hadn’t occurred.

“We could have spent a lifetime dancing around each other, wouldn’t you say?” Silver replies with his own smirk and the dizzying relief is immense. Flint reaches out towards Silver’s crutch and pushes it towards him through the sand as if he read his thoughts.

They’re staring at each other with a low simmering affection that Silver can’t properly get a handle on. Flint stands first and holds his hand out to Silver as if to help him up. Silver shakes his head at him good-naturedly, “I can manage.”

He pushes the crutch into the sandy moss and forces himself to stand into the wobbly dark. He can tell that there are things Flint wishes to speak about, his tongue is on the verge of spilling those words out to him. Regardless of what it was that lays claim to Flint’s thoughts, Silver knew with perfect clarity that whatever it was may just set them apart. He isn’t ready for that yet, not now. If that made Silver a fool then so be it. He’s tired of losing pieces of himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time posting an explicit fic, so, I hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> You can follow me on tumblr @brassfannibal for piratey things and updates! Thank you!


	11. The Erebus

The blurred half-hearted morning light is fighting its way through the small tears in the tent. The fabric ripples from an oppressive breeze and inside resounds the encouraging hitch of breath.

Silver grips the thin sheet beneath him tightly with his fists above him and battles against the urge to voice his pleasure shamelessly to the camp of men. Silver’s trousers are dangling from his foot and Flint is kneeling between his legs.

The last two days of trekking along the scorching humid beach has been uneventful even if they haven’t been able to keep their hands off of each other. The addiction isn’t anything new but it’s chipped loose something untamable between them. Silver had thrown Flint a shit-eating grin when he instructed him to cook some rabbit for the crew and (to Flint and the men’s irritation) took far too long to cook the damn thing. While they chewed on burnt meat Flint glared at Silver from across the beach who had nothing but amusement to offer. Hence, not but a few moments later, Silver found himself being manhandled into an empty tent and shoved onto the nearest cot.

Flint indents his palms on the inside of Silver’s thighs to push them apart against the sheet and relentlessly slides his mouth to the base in a quick rhythm punctuated by his tongue. The fact that they were doing this within reach of the crew, with only a thin tent between them shouldn’t be as exhilarating as it is.  He can hear the footsteps through the sand nearby and a muffled complaint about the heat.  

“Fuck..” Is all Silver manages in a quiet groan. He bites his lip and pants at the mercy of Flint’s mouth. Silver’s squirms and attempts to keep himself quiet. His striking vulnerability sets him apart. Flint would never admit the poetic sentiments that crawled around in his skull from such imagery but those dormant words are there all the same. They’ve always been there.

He watches Silver’s Adam’s apple bob and his lips fall open before he shudders and spills onto his tongue. There’s a short moment of heaving breath grounding him to reality. His palms release the pressure against Silver’s thighs and Flint swallows the warmth that collected at the back of his throat. His fingers lightly trail to Silver’s hips because he relishes the feel of them under his hands; the small curve and dip which is almost delicate. Before he loses himself, he stands slowly from his kneeling position. There’s a small moment of panic that seizes him and he attempts to navigate it beneath a veneer of calm.

He looms over Silver who is completely spent, his limbs in contented angles of bliss. He looks up at Flint with hooded eyes and asks lazily, “Leaving already, I see?”

“I don’t want to waste the day in this tent,” Flint says coldly and Silver blinks at him as his amusement fades. Flint hadn’t meant how the words presented themselves but he couldn’t be in this tent any longer. The smell of him, those eyes, the warmth of his skin is too intoxicating. He hadn’t had a chance to breathe and assess things. There are men on this island that wanted them dead and that’s where his focus should be.

“As I recall, it was you who—” Silver begins with irritation and Flint interrupts, “I know..”

They’re silent for a moment and Silver sits up with the clench of his jaw to grab his trousers from the floor. Flint studies the slump of his shoulders before exiting the tent to the bright sun that warms his face in greeting. He didn’t think of Smollett or his men, however. Instead, he thinks of the things that prick his thoughts like thorns and stick there. These are the ridiculous sort of questions that don’t matter, will never matter.

How many men has Silver been with? He obviously has experience. A dark sort of envy rears inside of him when he wonders if anyone from the Walrus crew got to experience him the way Flint just had. What madness possesses him to even give light to these thoughts?

The suffocating humidity of the beach is anything but a reprieve.

\--

Silver ties his hair away from his face with a small soggy rope and limps outside to squint towards the sea uncomfortably. A gruff voice startles him before he can get can a handle on his surroundings, “I have the Scout.”

Silver flinches towards Hands who eyes him with sullen disappointment. “How long have you had him?” Silver asks perplexed.

“Seein’ as how the two of ya were fuckin’, I had to bide my time.” Hands blurts out a little too loudly.

“Jesus..” Silver breathes before glancing at the oblivious crew which readies themselves to leave.

“You think you’re clever? Anyone with half a fuckin’ mind can see what’s goin’ on. Get Flint or don’t get Flint and meet me by the tree line.” Hands replies before trudging back through the sand towards the dark jungle. Hands is clearly disappointed in him but Silver has never been one to deny himself the pleasure. Most especially since it’s Flint, no matter what dark plots roam in his skull.  

Out on the blinding sand, Flint is speaking to a crewman named Sam who looks dumbly at the captain as if he didn’t understand a word he spoke.

“Captain.” Silver prods to Flint’s back.

“Just a moment.” Flint dictates in a professional tone and Silver’s grip tightens on his crutch. He glances back towards the decaying jungle which is wrapped in a thick mist. It snakes around the trees, up through the unending canopy of leaves and disappears in the daylight.

“What is it?” Flint finally asks when the crewman has left. He meets Silver’s eyes with false indifference. He can’t tell if it’s an act for the crew or for himself. They’re both exceptional at deflecting after all.

“Hands found Smollett’s Scout.” Silver states and watches those green eyes darken. He sticks his crutch in the sand beside him to begin his walk towards the jungle.  Flint’s boots crunch against the dunes as he moves to keep pace beside him and asks, “When did this happen?”

“While we were _busy_.” Silver replies but he didn’t have the energy to toss him a smirk nor the inclination.

The tide grows further away with each crash of the waves to the shore. It feels symbolic and Silver dislikes the sentiment that it provokes. He still despised the sea, didn’t he? Much the same way he hadn’t wanted to be a pirate, but here he is repeating it all over again.

“It’s difficult to remember…” Flint begins softly and stops. The tone of his voice gives Silver pause but they keep walking further ahead towards that jungle. Flint never finishes and Silver inquires, “Yes?”

They enter the damp mist surrounding the trees and it leaves a thin sheen of sweat glistening on Silver’s skin. “…the last time you and I were in this jungle.” Flint continues as if the words were hard to form on his tongue. It takes a moment for Silver to catch up with what he’s meaning. He had expected it to be about the Scout but not…this.

Silver stabs a collapsed fern with his crutch and replies, “Yes, well, I think it’s up to you if history repeats itself.” He wobbles and catches himself quickly on a hidden protruding rock, “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Forget it.” Flint snaps attempting to shut down the topic and stalks ahead, faster than Silver can manage.

Silver’s heart skips as if stones scattered inside it and he speaks loudly, “This fucking island...”  He halts when his voice becomes shaky and he presses his lips together tasting the sweat from his upper lip. Flint slows his pace and the silence is only marred by the occasional squawk of a wild bird far off into the distance.

“I wanted you to fire that pistol,” Flint replies to the trees ahead of them and the tightness in his shoulders evaporates.

“I know…”

Flint slowly turns around to face him and the irritability has evolved into something akin to sorrow. He continues, “I needed you to do it.”

Silver’s voice wavers, “It was an impossibility.”

Flint begins his slow walk back to him. The thread between them loosens and softens the humidity trapped in his lungs.

“And if it comes to that again?” Flint inquires dangerously.

Silver goes rigid at the implication and that dark familiar anger climbs up his throat, “What the fuck do you think?” His voice is low and ready to snap.

Flint is watching him with a vulnerability that resembles grief. They had been grieving each other for so long that’s it’s hard to reconcile what’s changed between them beneath this canopy.

“John..” And the way Flint says his name makes his chest feel as though it could become a cave.  It would house all the things that tore him loose from his moorings.

A snapping of a twig draws their attention and Hands’ gruff voice interrupts, “You fuckin’ gits realize that the Scout and I heard every goddamn word.” 

Silver’s mouth is partially open at a loss and they both blink at him as if suddenly dragged back to this blinding reality. “Take me to him,” Flint commands coolly. Hands tosses an extra glare just for Silver as he moves to catch up through the thick brush.

Hands guides them to a large tree with its roots clawing out of the earth like spider legs. A dark-haired man is sitting against the trunk with his hands tied and a bloody gash trickling down his forehead. His eyes travel over the both of them wildly in absolute terror.  

“Please! I’ll do anything!” He blubbers and Hands blinks at Silver with an absent exhaustion.  

Flint speaks up, “How many men are part of Smollett’s crew?” He slowly walks calmly towards the frightened Scout.

“I don’t know, I fuckin’ swear it but…” The man breathes and Hands pulls a dagger from his belt. “..I can show you…where the ship is. I can show you.”

Flint studies him, making him squirm under his scrutiny before he nods in stern agreement.

The Scout could very well be leading them into an ambush but if they’re smart about it then they can avoid the majority of the jungle. Hands grabs the Scout’s arm to force him to stand and he points with his tied hands into the trees.

“We aren’t going that way, we will hike along the edge of the forest near to the beach,” Flint replies and the Scout’s brows knit together in confusion.

“This is the best way, sir.” The Scout attempts to persuade and points again into the nothingness.

“I saw your path by lantern and you didn’t come from the east. If you try to steer us wrong then I will slit your throat. Let this be your only warning.” Flint replies darkly and it’s clear his patience is already wearing thin.

Hands shoves the Scout forward and he stumbles against the greenery. He prattles on, “Captain Smollett said you’re a doctor? That we’d meet up with Mr. Arrow who has the map.”

It’s Silver turn to speak up, “Mr. Arrow is dead, I’m afraid.”

The Scout turns to face them and stumbles backward. The man is clearly an imbecile who may have had a bit too much to drink before getting captured by Hands. “Oh god..who are you?” The Scout manages.

Flint replies, “Not important. Get moving.”

\--

The dark edge of the jungle where the foliage meets the sand is a wild precipice. It’s as if they are walking along an edge of a damaged blade.  The branches stick out like crooked teeth blocking their path. They haven’t said a single word in over an hour. Flint had exchanged a glare with Hands, who’s practiced hate for him somehow drew some comfort in the tension. He can hear the quiet heavy breath of Silver behind him, along with the stabbing and crackling of the crutch against the flora.

“Do you need to—” Flint begins to break apart the silence but Silver interrupts irritably, “I’m fine. Keep going.”

Hands moves up with a look of contempt towards the Scout as if to give them privacy to speak. Flint slows his feet a bit so that Silver can limp nimbly beside him.

“You don’t need to do that.” Silver remarks.

Flint feigns obliviousness, “Do what?”

“Slow down for me. That’s the last thing I fucking want, honestly.” Silver’s venomous tone lashes out louder than Flint suspects he intended.

He side-eyes Silver, observing him. His shoulders are hunched and his messy hair is pulled partially back, swinging against his shoulders with his movement. Flint could live and die by that image.

“Stop.” Hands grunts, grabbing a hold of the Scout and Flint is snapped out of his useless reverie.  They halt and listen to the snapping of twigs near to their position. It’s all the warning they receive before three men burst from the brush with their swords drawn. The nearest one swings fast cutting Silver’s shoulder and knocking him to the dirt. They hardly had any time to react. Flint pivots quick and glides his sword upwards gracefully gutting the man that stood over Silver with vicious precision. Hands is making quick work of the other two men with his dagger.

Silver lifts his palm from his shoulder with a nod, “It’s nothing. He barely grazed me.”

He can hear the death cries of the third man and then the heavy silence that follows when the body thuds to the ground. Flint holds his hand out for Silver who stubbornly refuses it and forces himself to crawl to his fallen crutch. Flint watches him struggle nearby a gnarled bush to reach it. Once he stands, Silver’s eyes finally meet his, catching his breath in the blanketed wet heat surrounding them. Flint nears him to reach for Silver’s shoulder and he pulls away with irritation. “I’m fine.”

Flint snips, “Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it.”

Silver stills reluctantly letting Flint examine the slice from afar but it barely grazed the skin. It just left a tear in the fabric of his jacket. Flint lifts his eyes back to Silver’s face who’s searching his.

“You want me to kill him?” Hands voice calls and the Scout’s unintelligible pleas echo throughout the forest. Silver is the first to break eye contact. He moves out of his space and Flint watches Silver’s back as he nears Hands and the terrified Scout.

“You knew they’d be there, did you not?” Silver asks in that deadly dark tone he sometimes conjures. It’s like listening to Long John Silver again and he’s transported back to the raucous screaming matches they had in his cabin. 

“Please! I beg you.” The Scout whimpers.

“We can find our way to the ship from here, out along the edge is a bay,” Flint adds and he hopes that makes the decision a simple one.  

Silver sighs and nods once at Hands who brandishes his dagger. Flint observes Silver turn away towards the thick overgrown trunks and the screams of the Scout are silenced.

The journey around the edge of the tree line is a short one before they begin to ascend a small steep cliffside.  The wild brambles clack softly in an uncomfortably warm wind that ripples through their clothing. Hands makes it to the top first and waits for them to join him but a moment later.

At the top of the ragged cliff that overlooks the bay, there below, in the inlet is the Erebus lying in wait like a sleeping predator. She’s a beautiful vessel, fast like the Hispaniola but larger in size and flying the British flag. The material is tossed about in the wind roughly. Flint produces a glass and spies on the ship below through the brush. The deck is mostly empty, aside from a lookout. He passes it to Silver a moment later who peers through it with curiosity.

“We cannot guarantee that Smollett is on that ship but we do know that most of that crew is scouring that jungle. Which means… we can take it.” Flint replies and watches as both Silver and Hands whirl around on him with matching expressions of concern.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Silver supplies.

“Hands will return to camp and inform the men of what we are doing. They will secure the beach and join us on the ship after we give the signal.” Flint states with the utmost confidence and he can feel a smile pulling at his own lips as Silver’s eyes widen.

“Are you suggesting that…” Silver begins and Flint interrupts, “You and I will seize it as we did the Spanish warship.”

“Are you out of your goddamn mind? Do you not recognize the impediment?” Silver replies in a harsh whisper and points obviously to his missing leg.

Flint looks to Hands, ignoring Silver’s blatant opposition to the plan and says, “Go to the beach and inform the men. We need to do this quick and quiet.”

Hands glances between them and Silver shakes his head, “No. Hands will take my place in this endeavor. I am not physically capable. I would be a hindrance.” Silver says and Flint can recognize the old ingrained feeling of worthlessness capturing Silver’s thoughts.

Flint counters, “You’ve never been a hindrance.”

Whatever Silver was about to say dies in his throat and he blinks at Flint with unguarded surprise.

Hands sighs audibly in the background and begins his walk back to the beach.

“But I can’t do this. It should be Hands.” Silver replies quietly, keeping his eyes honed on Flint’s like bright beacons in the shadow.

“You can swim, perhaps not as agilely as you used to but that doesn’t matter.” Flints says still brimming with confidence.

“What about climbing onto the ship?” Silver asks with hesitant curiosity and Flint squints at him in silence. He watches the realization dawn on his handsome face and darken his eyes.

“No…that’s not…Hands!” Silver calls again but Hands keeps walking in the distance with a slew of curses as a reply.

Flint continues, “You’ll use me as leverage. You still have the one leg.”

Silver blanches with disbelief, “How in the fuck are you going to carry me? On your back? This seems like an awful lot of trouble for no reason.”

Flint feels his irritability crescendo and he snaps, “It’s you and I, as it was before and as it has always been. I don’t give a _shit_ about your aversion to it.”

“You’ve really lost your fucking mind.” Silver says with a huff of a laugh and he shakes his head.

“We’ll do this in the morning before the sun rises.” Flint presses, resolute.

Silver closes his eyes tightly, the bitter amusement evaporating as he heads towards the cliff edge away from the view of the Erebus. He sits down next to a pile of burnt wood that used to be engulfed in flame.

The sun is already setting, painting the dark line of the horizon with a bruised hue. Flint sits across from him in the dirt, knowing full well they wouldn’t be able to start a fire this night. Strands of Silver’s hair whip around his face in a frenzy from the angry wind.

Flint feels as though he could toss out words and have them get lost over the edge before they reached Silver’s ears. They remain silent for a time until the sun has finally disappeared beyond the horizon and the wind takes on a chill to its ferocity.

Silver says loudly out of nowhere, “I don’t even have a fucking pistol.”

“There will be pistols on board. We are pirates, after all, John.” Flint replies and lets loose a small grin on his face.

Silver narrows his eyes at him but the anger isn’t to be found in them. He watches him open his mouth to speak, looking absently at the cracked mud on his boot and waits for the words to arrive.

“What the fuck are we doing?” Silver asks with an odd melancholy tone and meets his eyes.

Flint sighs dramatically, “Christ. I can explain it again?”

“No. Not the ship. I mean…” Silver replies but doesn’t finish, he didn’t need to.

“To my mind, something that should have occurred years ago,” Flint replies truthfully.

Silver looks down towards the charred remains of the wood from the old fire. The sky is blinking with stars above and the dark jungle is filled with exotic grumbles and screeches. He waits patiently for Silver to say what he’s preparing to.

“I’ll never be enough for you.” He says it so quietly that he can hardly hear him over the wind but the words sound rehearsed as if he’s spoken them before, there’s a residual disappointment behind them.  

Flint didn’t know how to answer it properly; his tongue is failing him and Silver takes the silence as confirmation. He nods his head solemnly towards his dirty boot.

“That isn’t true.” Flint finally replies but it sounds hollow, it wasn’t nearly enough.

“Fuck you.” Silver says without venom and he looks at Flint the way he did that time long ago when he thought Madi was dead, when he sat in her room of books as if it were a tomb. Instead of keeping that same distance between them Flint stands and moves to sit beside Silver who flinches away from the proximity but doesn’t get up to move from him.

They are staring at each other in the dark beneath the stars which is the only light this night. Flint leans in and collides his lips with Silver’s who hesitantly returns the pressure. Flint lightly presses his hand to Silver’s neck before he parts his mouth allowing Flint to capture his tongue. It’s a slow sensuous regard that scrambles his thoughts into disorientation. Even as the kiss deepens there is no urgency behind it. Flint is slowly exploring their boundaries and he moves in close to press his chest against Silver’s. He wanted nothing more than to wrap himself up in him but Silver suddenly breaks the kiss with a grunt and turns away. Flint rests his nose beneath Silver’s jaw from the movement until he moves out of Flint’s grasp entirely to his dismay. The chilled breeze is now all that’s between them. “I came to this fucking island for you.” Silver confesses shakily before he grabs his crutch and forces himself up from the dirt. Flint watches him hobble quietly towards the edge where he sits alone. He moves his eyes away from that silhouette and lies down in the sandy grass.

There are things to be confessed and things to keep close to his chest but he’s never been good at realizing which one he should let loose or trap forever inside him.

\--

Silver dreams of drowning. He dreams of the dark current sinking him in its embrace and he lets it take him under. There are stars beneath him pooled from the sky and snatched from his memory. The reflection is cruel trickery. There are no real bright points of light in the deep. There exists a void. He dreams of waking up on the other side of something that final.

He feels a soft touch of fingers on his face lightly caress the hair from his cheek and he blinks his eyes open towards the dark purple horizon. The sun is yet to rise and he turns over to stare above at Flint who is motioning for him to get up. Had it been him who sweetly touched his face? Or was that a cruel trick from his dream addled state? He swallows against his dry throat and sits up, reaching for his crutch.

They leave their coats behind, with only daggers in their belts. Silver ties his hair in a fastened bun against his back. “I’m glad you have enough confidence in this for the two of us.” He says.

“We’ll manage,” Flint says gathering a small bit of old rope from the sand. Flint looks like he did when they were about to take the Spanish warship, aside from the bullet wound. His pants and sleeves are rolled up and his hair is tied away from his face. For just a moment, Silver wants to pretend he’s stranded in that memory again. “I still think St. Augustine was the better option.” Silver finds himself saying and Flint squints at him with a small smile.

“And what would we have done there?” Flint asks and begins his walk down towards the beach. Silver limps along behind him as the breeze rattled by the dawn warms.

“We? I doubt you would have followed. You would have gotten yourself killed on that warship without me.” Silver replies.

Flint heads towards the dark crashing waves that collapse against the jutting rocks and says, “You’d be surprised.”

“You think you could have taken that ship without me then?” Silver asks and tries to smirk but the action feels strained.

Flint stops and turns to face him. His bare feet press in the wet sand and he waits for Silver to reach him. He resembles a mirage of the memory he’s trying to step into. Silver kicks up sand with the crutch and his toes from the effort. Once he steps into Flint’s space he rests his hand on his shoulder to balance as Flint takes his crutch from him. His other hand comes to rest on the crook of Flint’s neck.

Flint uses the old rope to begin securing Silver’s crutch to his back with ease and he answers, “No. What I meant is that you’d be surprised that I would have followed you.”

Silver studies Flint’s face which is exceptionally close to his. He notices Flint’s hands linger longer than necessary against Silver’s waist as if his fingers appreciated the free reign. “Apparently, considering I’m surprised now.” He replies. Flint finishes tying the rope and his eyes travel back to Silver’s with reluctant fondness.

“Are you ready?” Flint asks, lifting a brow.

“Not really.” Silver replies, nervously holding Flint’s eyes. Flint smiles at him this time and begins to walk them backward toward the crashing waves as if the sea is a bed they were about to fall into together.

He wishes it were so, even as the water engulfs them both. It takes a panicked moment for Silver to get his bearings in the wild waves. To his annoyance, Flint keeps his hand on his elbow, propping him up.

“I can manage.” Silver insists and Flint immediately releases him to the water. He flounders for a moment before he gains balance with the current. He watches as Flint dives under the deep and follows quickly towards that large foreboding ship that rests ahead of them.

The ship is further away then he originally thought. The dark before the coming day makes shadowed shapes appear much closer than they actually are. He catches a large wave to his face when he surfaces and is relieved that Flint didn’t coddle him on the swim there. He’s far ahead of him, almost to the ship itself. His crutch digs into his back making it difficult to continue the strokes against the tide.

Flint is a shadow waiting for him beside the great ship, he’s already loosened a rope that will help them climb up the side and into the gun port which is partially open but it’s enough to squeeze in. Silver reaches him out of breath, he grips with relief onto the side of the ship. It helps hold his head above the water that laps against the sides treacherously.

They both glance above them with matching squinting expressions at the tall darkened ship. Flint swims close to him and commands, “Hold onto my back.

“Now?” Silver questions uselessly and Flint glares at him. Flint reaches for the rope and waits for Silver to situate himself behind him. He swallows what little pride he had left and tosses it to the sea for the sharks to partake in. He grips his arms around Flint’s shoulders but it isn’t enough leverage.

“Wrap your leg around me,” Flint adds and Silver hesitantly complies. He wraps his leg over Flint’s hip ridiculously and replies, “Can you really carry—”

Flint interrupts him by pulling them both out of the water with a quiet grunt towards the rungs of the ladder.

“Jesus..you’re heavy,” Flint complains and Silver is still dazed by the fact that Flint is now carrying them both up the side of a ship like some sort of mythical beast.

Flint wraps the rope tightly in his fingers as he slowly makes it to the next rung. Silver loosens his leg from his waist and rests it on the groove below them to relieve some of the pressure from Flint. It seems to speed things up exponentially. Flint is warm beneath him and smells of sweat and sea salt which is incredibly distracting. He had expected to feel a sort of irritable embarrassment by this but if anything, he found he enjoyed it a bit too much. He’d never admit it and he’d play the part of the sullen passenger.

They reach the gun port a moment later and Silver grabs the wet frayed rope from Flint. He pushes himself up carefully and rests his foot on Flint’s shoulder to climb inside the port.

It’s near pitch dark inside and Silver slips, gripping onto the edge of the wall before he slides quietly to the floor. It doesn’t appear anyone was inside the room and all is silent except for the ominous creaking of the ship. Flint appears and forces his way inside, gracefully crouching before moving towards Silver who both eye the dark suspiciously.

Silver unties his crutch from his back after gaining his breath and pushes himself up to stand, using the wall as leverage. He smiles with the shake of his head at Flint and whispers, “I honestly cannot believe we did that or that..you did that.”

“Now, the hard part,” Flint replies with a hint of amusement behind his stoicism.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next, Flint and Silver remain the epic duo and attempt to take Smollett's ship out from under him. Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @brassfannibal for piratey things and updates! :)


	12. Avoidance and Distraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flint mysteriously finds a bottle of oil in the galley on the Erebus. Shhhhh it's possible.

A rusty lantern squeaks from a hook as the ship sways. It shelters the walls in an eerie washed out yellowed light and the stress of heavy boots is heard.

“We’re stuck here bloody waitin’ while they find the fuckin’ treasure…” A muffled voice says.

Flint pulls on Silver’s arm and guides them back into the darkness to the far wall. They press their backs against the wood and listen to the creaking footsteps of two men. A pair of boots grows closer and they spot a nondescript shadow linger in the hallway. The man answers, “We got the ship, they can’t go anywhere without us.”

Flint’s hand tightens on Silver’s arm as the shadow moves into the room. The man doesn’t glance in their direction. He’s completely bored and oblivious. Flint slides close to Silver and presses his lips lightly to the shell of his ear and whispers, “I’m going to take him. Watch for the other.”

Silver blinks at him as he moves his crutch closer to the opening of the hallway. Flint lunges at the man with a quiet ferocity and slaps his hand over his mouth. He drives the knife into his neck and Silver peers into the creaky dimly lit hallway once again, listening to the muffled struggle that soon ceases.

To their disappointment, the dead man didn’t have a pistol on him.

Flint takes the lead and they sneak beyond the swinging lantern light. There are too many creaks that catch their attention in the dark. Flint crouches, readying himself to attack the second man in the next room when a man with an unruly beard suddenly steps out from the bowels of the ship. He didn’t spot Silver yet but he did see Flint who is too preoccupied with sneaking in the dark to notice. The bearded man moves quick, aiming for Flint when Silver slides his crutch in the narrow corridor nimbly and stabs the man in the back with his dagger. He lets out a gurgling cry that startles both Flint and the second man who Flint attacks immediately. The bearded man in front of Silver tumbles in the struggle. Silver removes his blade from the man’s back and opens his throat with the edge of it before he can call out again.

Flint releases the limp second man from his grasp with a heavy sigh, “What the fuck were you thinking?”

Silver tilts his head at him with annoyance and harshly whispers, “I was thinking he was about to fucking stab you and I reacted accordingly.” Silver points to the small knife in the man’s greasy fingers.

“You stabbed him in the back.” Flint articulates, obviously irritably ungrateful.

Silver wipes his dagger clean on the dead man’s jacket and replies, “I had to act quickly and I couldn’t very well wrap myself around him, he was much bigger than I am.”  

Flint glares at him for good measure, “Stay behind me.”

“Well, if I did that we’d both be dead.” Silver retorts and gives him a confident smirk. Flint answers by presenting him with his back.

They drag the bodies out of the light and into the darkened corner of the unused room they first entered. “No pistols.” Silver recites and Flint motions for him to move back down the quiet hallway. The next room over is the galley which sat empty. Pots and pans clinked softly when the ship shifted in the waves. A wooden spoon had fallen to the floor from the tabletop and it rolls towards their feet. Stomping sounds resound from the entrance coupled by a hacking cough of an occupant. Flint quickly grabs Silver’s arm, opening the door to a pantry and shoves them both inside. Silver can barely see Flint’s face from the small sliver of light peeking its way inside the bottom of the door.

“I think you enjoy tossing me around.” Silver whispers.

“Quiet.” Flint snaps and they listen intently. There is more than one man in the galley but it’s hard to hear what they’re speaking to one another. Silver can feel Flint’s breath ghost over his face and he waits for those shadowed eyes to meet his.

“We wait them out?” Silver asks softly.

“I’m not sure on the number, so yes.” He answers and he observes Flint’s eyes flicker to his lips as if by habit. He had done it often in the past to obliviously hint at the implication.

Silver is in the mood to push boundaries and he says slyly, “I spent some time in the pantry on the Walrus. It was even smaller than this if you can believe it.”

Flint sighs, “Stop.”

“The galley was the best place to be discreet after everyone had gone to bed and the pantry—"

Flint is exceptionally perturbed when he interrupts, “Was it Billy?”

Silver startles from the blunt comment and flounders with the words caught in his throat. It’s obvious Flint had been thinking of this for some time. Silver can’t help but burst out in quiet laughter that shakes his shoulders. Flint grows angrier by his blatant amusement.

“No..” Silver manages and moves in close. He huffs another small quiet laugh close to Flint’s cheek which Flint didn’t pull away from. “It wasn’t Billy. Billy wasn’t interested in fucking around.”

“I’m glad you’re amused. We have more pressing issues at hand.” Flint answers and Silver moves to face him properly again. They listen to the muffled dull conversation which continues for some time and Silver had resigned to let him have his silence until Flint asks, “Dooley?”

“Fuck no.” Silver replies immediately with a chuckle. “The man wiped his arse with his bare hand for fucks sake.”

Silver is surprised to hear the small laugh escape Flint’s throat, “I remember that. You were trying to get the men to accept you and impress me.” Flint states smugly and Silver admires the small curve of a smile that he can see etched in the darkness.

“It worked.”

Flint concedes, “It did.”

“I thought about you after that.” Silver replies coyly and he can feel the heat radiating off Flint now more than ever. He’s like a fire pit; lit up and left to burn. Silver moves in closer to that heat and barely grazes Flint’s lips with his. Flint’s breath hitches ever so slightly and only Silver could sense the change. Flint begins, “You let those men….” his voice trails away dangerously low as if he set off something in motion he had yet to contain.

Silver interrupts him, up to the challenge for wherever this is going, “That shouldn’t surprise you and yet it bothers you.”

Flint presses himself against Silver, effectively pinning him against the wall and gripping Silver’s hips. Flint’s mouth hovers over his with a small possessive snarl. It was incredibly intoxicating and Silver answers that snarl with a sardonic smile.  

“..it bothers you.” Silver repeats confidently. Flint’s hands slide along his waist to his back surprisingly gentle and it helps relieve some of the pressure from his crutch. The fury a moment ago, gives way to something else. Flint closes his eyes tightly and rests his forehead against Silver’s. Their noses bump lightly and Silver is utterly overwhelmed with the warmth that held him in this dark space.

They can audibly distinguish chatter from at least three men in the galley which grows heated by the raising of their voices.  It isn’t long before Flint lifts his forehead to exchange a shadowed glance with Silver as the crashing sound of pots and pans is heard from beyond the door. The sound of a fist connecting with flesh and the loud grunts are broken apart by another voice which attempts to cease the fighting.

“There are at least four men in the galley now.” Flint estimates and releases his hands that held Silver.  He nearly forgot they were there. They felt like an extension of himself.   

“Do you think Smollett is here?” Silver asks.

“No. I believe he’s out with his men in that jungle.” Flint replies with certainty.

The creaking of wood near to the pantry door forces them to step back. They don’t have much time to react before the handle is turning and the door is opening. The man is oblivious on the other side and has his neck turned in conversation.  It’s Flint that acts quickly without much choice. He slices his dagger forward cutting the man’s throat.

The next few minutes are a bit of a blur to Silver. Flint had snatched a pistol from the gurgling man’s belt before he slumps to the floor. Curses are tossed out towards them as the three men run at them in confused surprise. Silver trips the first one with his crutch with a polite _“Excuse me.”_ Flint makes quick work of the fallen man before the other two are on them.

And of course, Silver gets stuck with a burly brute who spits at him. Flint and the second man are now swinging fists and breaking utensils. Silver maneuvers around a wooden table like a game of cat and mouse. One thing he is exceptionally good at is making himself appear harmless, when in fact he is anything but. The brute runs at him aiming for his crutch as he suspected he would and Silver leans quickly on the table. He swings the wooden extension with great practice forcefully against the man’s skull. It knocks him back toward the wall dazed and Silver quickly hobbles over to him, bringing down his dagger into his chest before he has a chance to react.

The loud grunts of a struggle and the breaking of glass are the only sounds left in the galley. Silver turns to see Flint attempting to strangle the man he had been fist fighting. “A little help would be nice.” Flint grits.

“You look like you’re..”

“What the fuck is happening down here?” Another voice by the wooden dining tables interrupts. Silver spots the pistol Flint had dropped on the ground and grabs it quickly from the floor. Before the man who had just entered could assess the situation Silver points the pistol at him swiftly.

“Hello.” Silver greets with a shark-like smile and the lanky man’s eyes widen. Flint finally releases the now lifeless man from his grasp who collapses unceremoniously to the floor.

“Fucking pirates!” The lanky man exclaims.

Flint stalks toward him with his dagger, his red hair a mess against his sweaty enraged face.  The man attempts to shout again. Silver lowers his pistol as Flint ends his panic abruptly.

He observes Flint’s heaving back as he cleans off his dagger against his thigh. Flint punctuates by catching his breath, “I am…very glad you didn’t fire that pistol.”

“I’m not a fucking imbecile. I know that—” Silver is interrupted yet again by a side door to the galley bursting open. A man with a pistol of his own aims it directly at Flint. Seconds away from firing, Silver immediately aims his with abandon and fires, shooting the man dead.

Flint is startled into bewilderment at the quick change of events before he tosses a heated glare at Silver.

“Now that was justified. You cannot tell me otherwise.” Silver argues with the shake of his head.  

Loud stomping boots resound from above and Flint picks up the pistol the dead man left behind, “You were saying.”

“Why is it that you berate me every time I save your fucking life?” Silver squints at him with frustration before Flint grips his arm and forces them out of the room.

Their bare feet smack against the splintered wood as Flint guides them down another darkened hallway. The frightened yelling of the men from the galley echoes behind them into the depths of the ship.

“How many fucking men were left behind to guard the Erebus?” Silver whispers harshly.

“I suspect that Smollett may have had an idea that something like this might occur but he still underestimated us.” Flint replies and Silver isn’t convinced by his calm confidence.

“Underestimated us?” Silver asks shrilly as the panicked shouting grows closer to their position. Flint grips onto Silver’s arm surprisingly gentle and guides him to a small narrow staircase. Silver carefully descends, quicker than Flint expects him to and he hops over the last two steps as if to show off with a smile to match the bravado.

Flint opens a small door to a food storeroom and this time forces Silver inside by grabbing the material of his sleeve. Silver rips himself away, irritably, once inside the small room. When Flint shuts the door, it steals away what little light the room had and Silver stumbles over a nearby empty barrel with the complaint, “I can’t see a fucking thing.”

Flint somehow gracefully makes his way over to him to tug on his shoulder again towards the back of the pitch dark room.

“I spotted a trapdoor when we entered,” Flint adds and bends down in front of Silver’s crutch to feel for the hook. The trapdoor squeaks open revealing a small amount of light inside from a single candle. It flickers from a wax covered holder down below. Flint leaps down towards the dim light and glances up at Silver, who sighs at him with a knowing response.

“I’d like to help you down if you let me?” Flint asks oddly polite and Silver presses his lips into a thin line in stubborn contemplation. The stomping of the boots above him forces his reluctant agreement. He slowly sits on the edge of the trapdoor and lets Flint take his crutch to set on the floor.

When Flint glances above at him again, Silver moves forward and Flint offers his palms for his. He obliges and falls clumsily into him.  They stagger back as Silver sets barefoot to the floor and Flint holds him upright by his arms. Standing there for a moment in the flickering darkness of the room staring at one another, it’s as if they’ve lost their goddamn minds.

Silver moves out of his grasp to lean on the wall and grab his crutch from the floor. Flint takes the time to reach up and shut the trapdoor, locking it in place securely.

“How long, might I ask, do we have to wait here?” Silver questions and limps towards one of the large crates that are housed in the oddly shaped room. The shadows here have sharp edges that contort against the oval curves of the wood.

“We need them to think we escaped and then we’ll find a way to signal the shore party.” Flint replies with a nod. Silver slides down the crate to the floor where he rests his crutch beside him. Flint appears as though he’s contemplating something and the offending thoughts add a crease to his forehead. He looks over at Silver almost shyly and Silver observes with tamed curiosity.  After a moment of swaying indecision, Flint joins him, sitting surprisingly close. He stretches out his legs and their thighs barely touch. They sit like that for some time in a comfortable silence that can only be achieved with years of practice.

\--

The candlelight is a gentle glow in the darkness but it resembles something out of the pitch beckoning Flint to a faraway shore. He turns to observe Silver from the close proximity. His hair has partially fallen out of the tied rope and sweat glistens on his temples. The rise and fall of his chest is slowing. Silver turns and his eyes blink at him as if he’s startled by Flint’s observation. Silver says nothing and searches his face for those hidden thoughts. Before they begin yet another heated discussion and the tension rises, Flint pulls a small bottle from his pocket. The bottle luckily didn’t shatter on the journey from the galley. Silver is observing it in his fingers suspiciously before Flint holds it out to him.

He watches the realization dawn on Silver’s features and even spots the first hint of blush rise in his cheeks. He didn’t think Silver had the capacity to blush since he’s unusually open with his flirtations but there it is, coloring his skin beautifully. Flint silently despises himself for the adoring warmth growing in his chest. He didn’t wish to speak on jungles or their gaping future or what it is he still hides from him.

“I cannot believe that during the commotion of killing…what? Five men, you had the time to take this, let alone spot it.” Silver replies and turns to him with the shake of his head.

“I..was half tempted to travel back to the Hispaniola for something similar.” Flint confesses and Silver’s wide amused grin is worth the embarrassment. He wants nothing more than to taste that smile.

They remain suspended in shadowed smirks for some time as Silver fiddles with the bottle of oil absently.

“It doesn’t bother you?” Silver asks quietly as if he’s speaking more to himself then to Flint or the room around them.

Flint releases a small breath before answering, “What?”

Silver reaches down and rests his hand on the thigh of his missing leg as an obvious hint without the need for words.

Flint’s brows knit together, “Why ever would that bother me? I’ve seen it plenty.”

“It’s different now, we’ve moved beyond a boundary. There are things I’ll never…be able to do or—”

Flint interrupts, “Stop.”

Silver’s face is filled with a hidden anguish as if he’s waiting for Flint to tell him all that he dreads. Flint could conjure up more poetic words to force out of his mouth but instead, he answers playfully, “I’ve seen you mount a horse for battle perfectly fine.”

Silver’s glassy eyes suddenly crinkle and then he’s laughing; a sweet small sound of surprised delight. “Is that a hint then?” He asks, suggestively.

“If you’ll indulge me, I’d rather like to take the lead.” Flint replies and he knows by way of this conversation that they are indeed about to fuck in the belly of the Erebus.

The pounding sounds of the boots have ceased and all is silent except for the familiar creaking of wood. Silver rests his head against the crate, watching Flint, waiting. Flint moves in close and presses his forehead to Silver’s again, feeling his breath against his skin. Silver runs his fingers through the hair at the back of his neck. He found he felt most in tune with things when Silver is touching him; when his skin melds with his.

Flint pushes forward capturing Silver’s mouth with his own. The kiss is a rough start by Flint’s guide. He sucks on Silver’s bottom lip before tugging it with his teeth. They are primitively uncoordinated. Flint feels a surge of viciousness. The pantry discussion still at the forefront of his mind like the base envy that it is. He tears into Silver’s clothes, ripping apart the buttons on his shirt, which pop off like shiny pebbles on the floor.

“Jesus Christ…” Silver breathes, gripping onto Flint, “You do know I don’t have another shirt.”

“I don’t give a damn.” Flint admits into his neck before mouthing his way over his pulse point and back to his flushed lips once again. They forcefully tumble to the floor. Silver gets the last button free from Flint’s shirt and adoringly caresses Flint’s chest softly up to his shoulders. He frames the curve of them with his fingers. As if such an expanse of skin should be delicately revered. It tears the desperation out of Flint’s movements and replaces it with something he dare not name. He cannot name. He will not name. Silver’s hands are shaking slightly against his skin and Flint hovers over him, breaking the kiss. His dark wild curly hair is fanned out behind him on the floor and those bright clear eyes are watching him enraptured. Flint imagines his expression mirrors the same immense admiration. He almost lets a sonnet loose from his tongue to make the beauty beneath him permeant to the air. “You’ve plucked me loose.” He says instead.

“And I’ve trapped you in my skull.” Silver replies and Flint bends down again to glide his tongue slowly and sweetly into the heat of Silver’s parted lips. Their trousers are quickly tossed aside, forgotten, and now they are two naked bodies wrapped into the tune of their breathing. Silver moves his head back on a soft shy moan, exposing his neck when Flint finally slides their erections together. They are all limbs and scattered clarity. Silver slides his leg over Flint’s waist. His ankle digs into his spine and he wants it burned there like a scar. Flint runs his bottom lip up the column of Silver’s throat and over that Adam’s apple which is presented to him and Silver pulls them roughly closer together with his heel.

Flint could lose it now if he isn’t careful, the friction against Silver’s cock is not only exquisite but seeing Silver beneath him, all rosy skin with his shaky exploratory fingers, makes Flint want to come on that ebbing chest. Silver’s once bright eyes have darkened and he speaks in that low-throated tone, “Fuck me.”

Who is Flint to refuse?

The application of the oil on Flint’s fingers is a quick one and he rubs his hands together to warm the liquid against his skin. It’s been quite some time since Flint has done this and he’s imagined this moment enough times over the years that he had hoped it could live up to expectation but because it’s Silver, it’s already exceeded it. He gently nudges Silver to turn over and he gladly complies. His hair cascades down his back in curly rivulets. As enticingly stunning as Silver’s arse is when it’s presented to him, his eyes fall on a scarred line on his waist which mars the skin. He runs his thumb over it lightly and wonders how he received it, and who gave it to him.

“Are you going to fuck me or not?” Silver chimes in muffled from the floor. Flint grabs his small waist harshly and pulls him closer, hard enough to bruise. The action releases a small yelp from Silver in the process.  

Flint reaches down between that ineffably beautiful arse and swirls his finger gently over the sensitive skin within that warmth. Silver squirms a little, releasing a small nervous chuckle and Flint realizes quickly that he’s ticklish. A small smile grows on his face as he relishes the squirming body beneath him. Flint is exceptionally hard and he moves his cock against the inside of Silver’s thigh. He continues the torturous slow movement of his finger before softly plunging it inside him. The reaction is an entirely different one and this has become a wonderful experiment of sorts. The different sides of Silver he’s yet to see. He’s decided he wants to see them all.

Silver turns his face against the wood and presses his eyes closed, his lips are barely parted. His expression displays discomfort bordering on pleasure. Flint must keep himself focused because even the feel of him around his index finger is already driving him to madness.

He flinches with the entrance of the second finger but his shoulders that were pulled taut a moment ago are slowly loosening. Flint experiments further by gently sliding his fingers out and watching with thrilling satisfaction as Silver’s body seems to mourn the loss of them.

By the third finger, Silver’s comfort grows and he arches back against him to gather them eagerly deeper into that softness; into Silver. Which nearly makes Flint abandon the gentle regard entirely. He wants nothing more than to press himself inside of him; a place he’s yet to claim. He fingers him in a slow graceful movement that matches the tide until Silver is panting against the wooden floor. An unmatched exhilaration accumulates from the image before him, from the beginnings of their shared storm. Flint slowly removes his fingers and Silver softly protests. There’s a moment in which Flint takes to savor and massage his hands over the softness of Silver’s arse while pouring a liberal amount of oil to slicken his cock. His chest heaves and he lines up to slowly begin the plunge into that tight pocket with a groan of his own.

Silver tenses, his back is rigid and Flint is gentle with the intrusion but god, how desperately Flint wants to drive himself further into him until there is nothing left of James Flint at all. Perhaps, it is not Flint who is claiming Silver but the other way around.

The words tumble out of Flint with delicate concern, “Are you alright?”

“…yes.” Silver's voice is almost foreign in its soft breathlessness.

Flint slides out to the cool air, only to thrust immediately back into him again and Silver releases a low whine as his fingers turn white from the pressure against the floor. He’s panting louder now, holding the sounds at bay but Flint wants to hear them. He wants to know he’s the one that pulled them from silence. He grabs those hips to press his fingers into the yielding delicate skin and collapses himself further inwards.

“Oh fuck…” Silver moans the encouragement and that’s all Flint needs to roughen his slow slide into delirium. The warmth surrounding him is indescribable. It chases up his chest and flushes his cheeks. He’s alight with the need to worship the expanse of skin, with what he’s been given. John Silver, the immutable effigy of his purpose. He’s all around him, feeling him tremble, the vibration of his voiced unintelligible pleasure. Flint matches those sounds with his own.

His thrusts grow deeper and Flint kisses messily against Silver’s back, tasting the sweat from his delicate shoulder blades. Silver begins a constant stream of quiet moans each time Flint burrows into him and he caresses the sweaty hair away from Silver’s neck to press his mouth there.

“My god…you feel exquisite.” Flint murmurs muffled against Silver’s skin. Silver’s breathy laugh vibrates against his mouth and he wants to absorb the sound in his throat. He strokes his hand down Silver’s side, framing his thumb in the cleft of his back as if it belonged there. Flint is transfixed and weary of loving him from afar as one does the sun. Now, slotted together, one moving with the other, nothing but the sweet friction as Silver pushes himself back onto his cock. He forces the pace to exceed what Flint can maintain before he loses himself entirely. Flint grips Silver’s waist again tightly and lets the brilliant release sweep over him. Those thoughts that he’s kept guarded have finally worked themselves loose and as he’s coming inside of Silver, all he can think of is how madly, fiercely, he loves him.

There is nothing but the blinding aftershocks that wrack him as he fucks Silver through it. He is still so unbelievably enamored with the thought of having his cock inside him that, that’s all that matters. He could erase all the things they’ve done to hurt one another. He’s lost the anger for it, it’s been cut loose and freed for the wind to find. Silver is incoherent in his muffled cries and Flint can tell that he’s close to the edge himself. He didn’t wish to pull himself from him, he wants to remain buried in this man who has torn him apart and slowly made him whole again.

Flint hovers over Silver’s glistening back when the haze of his orgasm finally begins to fade. Their breathing is in unison as if timed on purpose. He gently grabs Silver’s shoulder to help him turn over and he does so without protest. Silver is still very hard and Flint uses what’s left of his endurance to swallow his sublime cock into his mouth.

Silver lets out a surprised cry as he arches his back, pressing himself immediately further into Flint’s mouth. Flint takes him all and grips his arse firmly with the palms of his hands. The sight of Silver as Flint hallows out his cheeks is his favorite thing and he gathers much enjoyment from watching Silver come undone. He trembles with a loud panting moan and releases the warm liquid against Flint’s tongue. He swallows it down while sucking on the tip once more before pulling off.

Flint is relieved to collapse next to an equally sated Silver who is breathlessly smiling and his hair is plastered in sweat to his neck and face. He’s never seen this side of him before, yet another he feels privileged to be allowed to witness. Silver’s voice wavers with exhaustion, “That was fucking incredible.”

“Again?” Flint asks, pulling the question from the past and Silver softly laughs. It’s all the incentive Flint needs before he closes the small space and claims Silver’s lips in a lazy gentle kiss.

\--

Wax drips perpetually from the shortening candle but it leaves plenty to shadow in the small space.

Silver stands against the wall, with his torn open shirt and his hair down wildly against his shoulders. He thinks he must resemble a poor marooned sailor with the state of his clothing. He relishes the burn of his body though and presses his fingers to his lips absently as if to mimic Flint’s. He’s wanted this for a long time and yet now that he has it, he can’t allow the smile to stretch his lips.  There is too much left to say, too much left to do. It’s all too much. He wants nothing more than to have Flint fill him up again and hover over him like some primordial being from the sea. He’s always thought of Flint that way. Something dark and beautiful able to conjure tempests through his grief. Silver muses on their fate and if they are destined to swallow each other up so that something can be made new from them.

“Stay here.” Flint calls from above the open trapdoor and Silver gives him a small acknowledgment in return.

After they take the Erebus, Silver will ask him why he’s here and he will stand in that jungle once again and wait for the answer like a dagger meant to fit between his ribs.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be more angst ahead of course! I hope you are enjoying it :) 
> 
> You can follow me on tumblr @brassfannibal for more piratey things and updates! Thank you!


	13. A Third Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had some of the reveals in this chapter planned from chapter one so I hope you like them!

They are the shadows that dot the ship like murky spider webs. They snatch unsuspecting crewmen into the dark with them to give them a simple mercy by blade. Did such a thing mean they have finally conquered the abyss and tamed it for their own means? Did Silver feel lighter for it? Even with the decaying tremble of those old forgotten spiders?

Silver steps out into the light to distract and Flint moves in behind the crew member like a wolf with his teeth bared. He thinks he’s created his own religion from Captain Flint and Silver learned to make a crown out of himself for such a visage. He knows with the feeling of culminating finality, that he isn’t ready to be made into something new but he desired truth now above ignorance.

As Silver observes Flint kill yet another, he wants to whisper to the scene that he’s no martyr but a man, a half a man with half a heart. The rest grew to ash and floated amongst the foliage years ago.

He glances down at the sightless eyes of the dead man and speaks very quietly, “I’m sorry.” But it’s a selfish admission because he isn’t apologizing to the corpse but to his future he recognizes inside of it.

“Come.” Flint commands and Silver flicks his eyes where he’s waiting in the doorway.

This is their entanglement, the usual one, that is choreographed in terror and delight as they make their way to the hidden space before the main deck. It’s night out now, which is a deadly advantage that they mold into with ease.

Silver believes now more than anything that they truly could take the whole goddamn ship.

The quarterdeck is a quiet empty space that lacks a lookout. Flint takes the opportunity to light the nearest lantern and rest it against the railing. The soft tapping sounds of Silver’s crutch are all that’s heard as he limps in a quiet circle to keep watch. Flint opens and closes the metal flap to signal the dark beach where they suspected their crew lies in wait for them. A suspicious creak of the floorboard catches their attention. Flint doses the candle and moves with Silver against the shortened wall. Silver nimbly slides his crutch in front of him to give himself support as he crouches.

“I’ve never seen you do that,” Flint whispers warmly into his hair. He hadn’t realized he’s so close.

“It took some time but I rather enjoy sneaking in the dark.” Silver whispers back and fights against the smile that threatens his lips.

He hates this. What Flint does to him. The pull, the take, and the inevitable forgiveness.

He turns to face him slowly as strands of his wild hair caress the bridge of Flint’s nose in the process. He surmised that Flint had buried his face in his curls and is startled that Silver now caught him. Silver’s small smile can’t be helped at the coloring of blush that brought out a smattering of freckles under the moonlight.

“This is quite the uncomfortable position.” Silver lies before he does something rash. Flint nods at him and they move out from cover towards the dark stairs. They seek shelter in an alcove and Silver rests his back against the wall with his crutch in front of him.

“Do you think they saw the signal?” He questions uselessly but he needs aimless conversation to drown out his growing thoughts.

“They did,” Flint states as if he’s omniscient and Silver avoids those eyes which he can feel examining him. They are silent for a long moment and Silver tries to follow the cracked lines of wood in the wall. Anything to not look at him. Flint adds softly, “Look at me.”

Silver stubbornly finds a dusty web to watch idly. Flint continues, “I will tell you what you want to know after we’ve taken the ship.”

Silver grinds his jaw to those words that somehow find a way to cut and he feels a quiet fury rise inside him. “I see you’ve finally decided to impart your plans to me then.”

“Stop.” Is all Flint says and Silver finally meets his eyes, only lighted by the coming day.

He steps through that resentment towards Silver and Silver moves, pressing the back of his head to the wall. Flint didn’t stop, he crowds him where he stands until Silver can see the light in his eyes. The expression on Flint’s face truly terrifies him. There is hidden desperation, there is understanding and something much more sentimental, something warm, something beyond passing fondness. Silver is frozen in place as if made of marble. Flint shuts his eyes and captures Silver’s lips with his. It isn’t a deflection. It’s a way to halt the argument. Almost to say, _‘not yet…please not yet.’_

Silver accepts the sweep of his tongue into his mouth and Flint hums against his lips as if he is something to be savored. There is nothing rushed about the kiss and it seems something born out of necessity as if Flint required it. Silver’s fingers bunch in the material on Flint’s shoulder as he slowly attempts to push him back. Flint is confused at first when Silver turns his head breaking away their shared breathing. The realization begins to trickle down his senses. From this simple act, he knows that Flint recognizes that whatever it is he’s going to tell him, Silver will not react kindly to.

Flint rests his mouth against the curve of Silver’s neck but he didn’t make any move to kiss him, he just breathes him in. Silver moves his hand up from his shoulder to run his fingers through Flint’s wind-swept hair.

“What did you do?” Silver softly asks and his voice wavers. Flint wraps his arms around his waist and keeps his face buried in Silver’s neck. It feels like it’s the only thing keeping the pieces of himself together. Silver lightly slides his hand further through the strands of his hair to the back of his head and they stand there ridiculously entrammeled.

“Would _I_ be enough for you?” Flint asks against his skin. Silver almost hears his own voice echo in his words.

“How…” Silver begins and then quiets. The tamed fury pays him yet another visit as he gathers the proper words to continue, “Truly, fuck you for asking that.”

Flint moves back releasing him and Silver is going to crumble, he’s going to fall and shatter to the ground as he’s meant to but Flint didn’t step away from him. There’s a shadowed meekness to Flint’s features that verges on open vulnerability. He wants to confess something but Silver didn’t want him to. He didn’t want to hear that sweet soft tone that he’ll say it in. That voice that has driven others to madness.

“Is anything beyond this wretched jungle attainable?” Flint tosses the question at Silver in a tremble.

“Not as long as that cache exists. No.” Silver answers bluntly.

He watches as Flint’s walls begin to build up again, into the familiar calm demeanor tinged with a spark of visible anger, “You will see reason.”

Silver’s voice is low and dangerously calm, “That cache won’t leave this island intact.”

“John..” Flint begins and a bitter practiced smile meant for a passing stranger forms on Silver’s lips. He can build walls too, he’s already crowded with them like extra teeth.

“You had the fucking nerve…” Silver replies with viciousness and stops to shake his head,” It’s painfully clear to me now what this whole fucking business has been about. My god, why didn’t I recognize it.” Silver attempts a huff of a laugh but there is nothing there to support any amusement.

Flint is watching him with his brows creased together in growing despair but he says nothing to dissuade him.

Silver adds, “I let you manipulate me into believing that taking the ship was just a bout of your usual madness. This whole goddamn thing has always been about the cache. Did you think that it would be easier to convince me if you fucked me first? You didn’t need this ship, you could have gone into that fucking jungle and slit Smollett’s throat. No, you needed me to come around to your side of things. You needed me to soften and wane to your plan for the treasure.”

“That’s not…” Flint begins but there’s a raucous cry from the deck and clumsy stumbling. They exchange an arduous glance between one another and put the inevitability on hold.

It’s clear by the sound of slicing flesh and frantic shouting that Flint’s crew has arrived to help them.

Silver observes Flint join the fray against the few men left to guard the Erebus. He steps back along the rail catching sight of Hands with his bloodied ax like a rabid dog looking for more flesh to rend.

One of the few Erebus crewmen left attempts to charge at Silver as if to knock him overboard, but Silver greets him with a vicious swipe of his dagger across his throat. Speckles of blood from the gushing wound collect on Silver’s stoic face as the man finally topples to the ground. 

As the cries die out Hands finally spots Silver and with the tilt of his head begins to approach him.

He’s studying him with a suspicious squint and says, “What the fuck happened to ya?”

Silver nearly forgot the state of his torn clothing and not to mention the unkempt wild tangles that nest in his hair. “You tend to look the part after you’ve fought a ship full of men.” Silver replies with a small strained smile that didn’t match his eyes.

Hands shakes his head at him and admits, “Thought Flint was mad with this idea.”

“But now?” Silver ventures.

Hands places his ax on his belt with ease, “Now nothin’, we still journey inland for the Smollett bastard.”  

“How did you know Smollett wasn’t on the Erebus?” Silver pinches the bridge of his nose against a throbbing headache that tumbles against his skull.

“Saw a group of men in that jungle. They’re done waitin’ on a dead Mr. Arrow to deliver them and are searchin’ for the cache.”

Silver nods once and lets his eyes follow Flint’s form who speaks and organizes the men.

“More lies?” Hands questions, lacking tact as usual.

“He’s going to speak to me about his plans for the cache and he knows mine well enough; to toss it into the fucking sea.” Silver replies and moves his crutch loudly against the wood.

“Ya know this ain’t gonna end well? You of all people should know there is no convincin’ him once he has his fuckin’ mind set.” Hands wisely adds, eyeing Silver with his guarded concern.

Silver refused to remove his eyes from that figure. That figure that always drew his eyeline whenever he was in view. “The only way that cache leaves this island is if I’m dead.” Silver admits.

There’s nothing left to say. It’s the truth of it. He will be the final ghost to rest inside it before it sinks to the bottom of the sea.

\--

The morning light is a haze that burns the horizon. It isn’t welcoming, it’s yellowed and cracked like a warning. Silver sits beside Ben who eats in quiet contemplation with the rest of the men in the galley.

“I must say Mr. Silver a job well done,” Ben says confidently with a small smile. He chews on a piece of stale bread and even motions to offer it to Silver. He declines with the shake of his hand.

“Do you miss him?” Silver prods and Ben halts his chewing in confusion, his wide blue eyes search his.

Silver adds, “Billy. I know you were close.”

Ben nods and swallows, “Billy lost his way and his mind towards the end. My friend, the Billy I knew was long gone before he jumped from that cliff. You were close once too.”

“We were, but I saw something in Flint he never did and it put us at odds.” Silver replies and rests his hands on his thighs. His crutch is comfortably beside him on the bench.

“What was that?” Ben asks and picks at his teeth.

“That he was terrified. Terrified of the thing he was becoming. I felt the need to insert myself between his madness and release. Look where it got us? Fucking nowhere.”  Silver snaps at the end and presses his lips together to quell the heat rising in his cheeks. Ben is always polite enough not to push and he waits in awkward silence. It’s then that Hands appears from the crowd and joins them, sitting beside Ben with a knowing glare.  He reaches over and grabs the other half of Ben’s roll before taking a bite out of it. Ben looks unfazed by this habit as if Hands has done it before. It’s almost a domestic knowledge between them.

“Always Flint. On and on. It never bleedin’ ceases with ya.” Hands prattles.

Ben speaks up, “Flint is a hard man to know.”

“A hard man to kill.” Hands concedes as if he’s wistfully remembering it.

Silver sighs in bone-deep exhaustion and grabs his crutch from the bench.

“You’re always bendin’ till ya break. Let him break.” Hands states and Silver recognizes the regard.

“That’s an impossibility.” Silver replies forlornly and forces himself to stand on a grunt.

He catches those eyes that watch him from the doorway. He didn’t know how long Flint had been standing there but he waits for him patiently alone. Silver’s anger rests at the surface of his eyes but beneath that, in that very deep darkness that they share, he wants nothing more than to be wrapped up in Flint again.

\--

The daylight is reaching up through the wild overgrown vegetation, enveloping Skeleton Island in its embrace. Flint sat against the side of the skiff as Silver lingered behind him. It’s guiding them to the beach where Dr. Livesey and the rest of the crew await them.

“Then it is the jungle?” Silver asks and Flint closes his eyes against those words. He didn’t want to do this, not now. They still had Smollett to deal with and he knows Silver will take some time to fully understand but he will understand. He knows this. He will come around.

“No swords.” Flint replies and Silver is silent.

They hop from the skiff as it eats up the sand at its arrival. Dr. Livesey is wearing a scarf tied around his head messily to collect the sweat from the sun. His lips are chapped white and he looks as though he’s about to pass out in front of them but he greets them with a wide smile.

“Mr. Silver! Captain! I see you have taken the Erebus, I did not think it would be possible.” Dr. Livesey exclaims.

Silver jabs with feigned cheer, “Well we are full of pointless endeavors!”

“I dare say it wasn’t pointless! We have his ship.” Dr. Livesey scoffs and laughs with a guffaw. It sounded a bit mad from the shrill tinge.

“Mr. Silver and I must speak if you will excuse us, doctor.” Flint replies and Dr. Livesey nods quickly in understanding.

Flint is the first one to start towards the trees and he despises that the closer he got to the jungle, it loomed over him with a mocking reminder. He can hear the crutch and Silver’s breath from behind him. It’s a comfort even now, it’s always a comfort to hear him.

He remembers hearing him approach while sitting on that wretched rock in this very jungle. That time when they attempted to sever what binds them.

He keeps them walking through the thorns and thick twigs that lash out at the both of them, a small cut to remind them that this island is a feral place and still holds their secrets well. He stops near a large tree with vines wrapped around it like small snakes. Birds take flight at his presence and he watches them above with a growing sense of desperation.

Silver’s crutch stops and Flint listens to his quiet breathing. He closes his eyes and categorizes it before turning around to face him. Silver is watching him with a cold disconnected expression. One hidden behind a wall but Flint has plenty of practice with Silver’s walls. The more he looks at him the more he sees a terror forming in his stance. He’s preparing for the worst but Flint hopes that he will not find it.

“What speech do you have planned to convince me now?” Silver asks behind that mask.

Flint tries to lessen the blow for him by speaking softly, “I wrote to her after we separated. I wrote to her.”

He watches the confused state in which Silver’s features finally give way to cautious realization. “Who?” He asks.

“I missed her.” Flint immediately replies and then watches those eyes that can tame him with a single glance harden to stone, “And I missed—”

Silver interrupts, “No.”

They stand there in silence as Silver swallows and moves his crutch idly against the leaves at his foot.

“I wanted to know how you were,” Flint admits.

“Fuck you.” Silver barks weakly towards the mud. “I can’t…do not tell me…Madi is involved in this?” He looks up at Flint then as his eyes reflect the trees more clearly from unshed tears.

“Not…exactly. We—” Flint begins and Silver’s breathes, “How long did you write to her?”

“Months. She told me you both hardly spoke and that you were unhappy.” Flint replies truthfully and Silver turns away from him, his hair sweeping across his back from the movement. He watches his hand twitch on the crutch and Flint remains ever patient.

Silver’s shaky voice answers, “Your war is dead.”

Flint replies resolutely, “There is always the need to fight. To never relinquish. There will always be a war waiting for those that choose it.”

Silver suddenly releases a scream towards the line of trees in front of them; unapologetic and grief-stricken. Several birds squawk at them in surprise and beat their wings against the branches. Flint is struck silent by it and he wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around those devastated hunched shoulders.

Flint softly continues, “It’s not my war anymore, John. It’s hers.”

He turns with his knuckles fading to white on the crutch and Flint notices the wetness glisten beneath Silver’s eyes as it did that time ago in this gnarled place.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Silver snaps like a whip and the heat of his glare when his eyes meet his is enough to melt any unworthy man to ash.

Flint is quiet and firm in his wording, “I’m retrieving the cache for Madi.”

Silver moves forward quickly on a strangled breath and limps towards the shadowed innumerable trees.

“John…” Flint tries.

“Don’t fucking follow.” Silver replies and nimbly continues his trek towards a wall of brush he’s about to disappear under. Flint didn’t adhere, of course, he never did. He follows Silver cautiously a ways behind him and through the vines encapsulating several gaping skeletons.

Flint dares to call to him, “This isn’t a betrayal, you must know this. This isn’t for you or I.”

Silver continues to limp further away from him with surprising speed as if heading straight into the depths of this place could reverse everything. As if it could bring them home again.

“This whole fucking thing is a goddamn lie.” Silver replies, loudly. He’s too angry to see reason and quiet his tongue. Flint had to catch up to him before he draws someone to their position.

Flint lets it tumble out of him, “I want a life...”

He lets the implication hang in the air. It’s easier than he expects the admittance would be. His chest feels lighter, the air around him even in its humidity isn’t as brutally suffocating any longer.

Silver stops his crutch and stills as if suddenly made into a statue. Flint knows they’re being reckless, speaking loudly to another out in the open but he couldn’t hold back, not now.

“Is that not what you envisioned?” Flint asks and watches the way Silver’s breathing becomes labored.

“The future has never been a kindness and there’s no need to dream on it.” Silver replies bitterly but his words are quiet and broken.

He cautiously approaches Silver afraid he’ll somehow lose him to this sea of trees. There’s a hollowness gathering in Flint’s chest and he needs to be in the warmth of his space again. He steps through the line of light that singed the leaves and beyond as if stepping through to another time, another island. Flint is now standing right behind him. He can see the visible defeat and the misery it wrought.

Flint opens his mouth to speak again, speak any word to repair what’s irrevocably shattered but there’s a rustling sound from the bushes in front of them. They both stand frigid and Flint reaches out instinctively to rest his hand on Silver’s shoulder. He tugs on Silver’s shirt, motioning for him to follow him into the brush.  Silver goes willingly without a word and they hunch down in the twigs together.

Approximately five men appear from the brambles. Three had pistols out and two brandished swords. It was obvious they had heard the argument between them. The entirety of the island must have.

Flint whispers, “We must flank around the—”

“I’m staying.” Silver adds coolly.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” Flint replies harshly and grips Silver’s arm for which he tears it immediately from his grasp.

“You go and warn them if you feel so inclined.” Silver’s calmness is unsettling. This is something beyond defeat, something akin to acceptance.

“You’re coming with me.” Flint demands and his irritation crescendos as Silver crowds him with a snarl of his own, “Do tell me, what in the fuck does it matter?”

Flint takes the opportunity to place his palms at the sides of Silver’s face and he watches the surprise evident when his practiced anger falters. It’s only but a moment later that Silver pulls himself out of his grasp, catching his hair painfully on Flint’s fingers in the rush. He observes as Silver begins to move around the bushes cautiously and Flint follows after him.

To Flint’s dismay, Silver steps out of the overgrowth first and before he can reveal himself out of the clearing he hears the soft click of a pistol.

“Who the fuck are you? Are you alone?” A muffled voice questions Silver. Flint grits his teeth towards the rotten leaves at his feet. They were too careless.  

“I’m alone.” Silver answers but Flint proves him a liar as he steps out of the bushes beside him. Two of the three pistols train on him as he holds his hands up calmly in surrender.

“And who the fuck are you?” A tall bald man with a scar marring his right eye directs his attention to Flint.

“I’m Mr. Arrow and I must speak with Captain Smollett with the utmost urgency,” Flint replies feigning concern. He knew these men had never seen Mr. Arrow and the risk is none.

The scarred man smiles a little at Flint, sizing him up with his eyes but keeps the pistol pointed at Silver.

“What of your companion?” He asks.

 Silver speaks up before Flint is able, “Well I happen to know where the cache is. Mr. Arrow promised me compensation.”

Branches rustle and snap beside them. Another man steps from the thicket eyeing them suspiciously. They are surrounded, that much is clear.

“You have a map?” The scarred man asks and licks his bottom lip in amusement. It’s then that Flint takes a moment to study the stance of the men. They weren’t military, nor did they appear to be crewmen hired from a port. These are free folk, pirates. How did Smollett fit into this?

“It’s up here.” Silver replies and points to his temple.

The scarred man laughs low-throated and replies, “Truly fucking convenient.”

“I knew Captain Flint, I crewed under him.” Silver replies truthfully, and Flint goes rigid as the other men surrounding the greenery seem to blanch at this admission. Silver continues with a wide pleased smile of his own, “My name is Long John Silver.”

Flint didn’t mind the boldness, they’ve grown used to risky improv between the two of them. This time the scarred man laughs loudly but not in disbelief. It’s in that bitter way one does when filling the silence.

“The leg helps your story, I’ll give you that. I suggest you come with me.” The man states and slides his eyes to Flint whom he appears to be testing the waters with. “But Mr. Arrow…”

Something is very wrong here, that much is clear, but Flint had yet to grasp what. Could it be possible that they assumed these men are connected with Smollett when they are in fact not? Could there be a third party on this island searching for the cache as well? The questions spiral and coil tight, resting in his throat unspoken.

“…but do we really _need_ , Mr. Arrow?” The scarred man slyly asks and nears him, this time directing his pistol at Flint.

“Yes.” Silver replies abruptly loud and catches his attention once again, “without him your endeavor ends and you will be searching this jungle for the better part of eternity.”

The scarred man’s grin begins to disappear from his chapped lips and he studies Silver once again with an odd puzzled narrowing of his eyes.

Silver continues bravely, “Who may I ask are you taking us to? It’s not Smollett.”

The scarred man looks back at Flint with a secretive smirk, “He’s a clever one.”

Flint glares at him coldly unamused and it only seems to provoke the man to smile wider until it unnaturally stretches his lips again.  

“Captain Hawkins will be pleased to make your acquaintance.” He supplies.

Silver and Flint eye each other with matching expressions of hidden confusion. Neither of them had heard of him but they’ve been out of the pirate trade. Not to mention no one goes around claiming to be pirates any longer, otherwise, they’d be swinging by daybreak.

The jungle opens up to swallow them whole and they go willingly into its belly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured a pirate Jim Hawkins would be interesting :P I hope you are still enjoying this! 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @brassfannibal for piratey things and updates! Thank you! :)


	14. His Palm

The gaping sky is cut wide open by the wild brush reaching up to claim it. Exotic birds squawk in the deep where not many hazard to go. The humidity is worse the further they head into the jungle. Flint had expected this Captain Hawkins to have a vessel but by the looks of it, they weren’t heading towards any shore he remembered.

Sweat collected on his temples, at the corner of his eyes and uncomfortably at the back of his neck. There’s a brief moment when he misses being bald in heat such as this. He brushes the sweaty strands which threaten to fall into his eyes away from his forehead. His attention moves back to Silver who insists on limping behind him. Each time Flint slows to meet his step, Silver backs away from his orbit.  

“Does this Captain Hawkins even have a ship?” Flint asks quietly, attempting to fall into step with him again.

Silver takes a long moment to answer. Long enough for Flint to wonder if he decided to not give any answer at all.

“It would appear these men have been here for some time. They are all filthy, more so than we. How long have they been here? I haven’t the faintest.” Silver replies with calm breathing. His crutch easily meshes with the mud below.

“Do you think they have any connection to Smollett?” Flint questions and listen to the squelch of their boots.

“I would say no. They’ve been searching for this treasure for some time.” Silver answers and when he does look up from his crutch he glances at the group of men guiding them. Flint, however, can’t take his eyes off of the man beside him. He needs to rescue a smile from Silver, he needs to mend the slowly cracking facade.

“Madi deserves the cache, John. I know you see it.” Flint dares to approach the subject again. He observes Silver’s shoulders tense at her name and the brief moment of dejected awareness sweeps across his features.

“It’s never been about what’s deserved. It’s always been about you filling that void. I can’t fill it and the fucking cache won’t either. You’ll see when I’m in the ground and you have nothing but gems to speak to.” His words are spiteful, vicious things that lash out at Flint in his entirety. He didn’t expect it to sting but it does all the same.

Silver even blanches at his own harshness but he didn’t make a move to correct it. Flint leaves him to his anger and moves towards the creeping vines to let him have his silence.  

\--

Nightfall isn’t much of a reprieve from the heat. It lingers and sticks against Flint’s skin like a parasite. There is no escape from it here and in the dark, the jungle gives way to sinister snarls of exotic creatures he’s yet to lay his eyes on. Further ahead is the beginnings of ethereal lighted torches. It’s a path towards what looks to be a large camp in the middle of the wilderness. Silver was right, these men have been here for some time. That notion alone makes Flint edgy. This place has been known to steal the sanity of those that remain here for too long.

The scarred man moves back to join Flint with a toothy smile just for him and Flint answers it with a simple glare.

“We’re free men here. We’ve built this place with our own hands from nothing. This will be the new Nassau.” The man recites with wonderment and Flint scoffs. He can’t help but release a small muffled laugh. The scarred man didn’t look pleased with his amusement.

“How long have you been here might I ask?” Flint prods and eyes the man with the shake of his head.

“You mock us but you’ll see when time has eaten away everything else. We will be here.” He adds resolutely but he doesn’t answer the question.

The numerous torches ahead that align a fence of wooden shafts, makes the mouth of the camp appear otherworldly as if they are slowly stepping into a dark obscure fable from another time. The trees that surround the camp entwine themselves around their own bark, interlocked and fastened like guardians. Flint takes a moment to glance back at Silver who is silently hobbling along and avoiding his attention with practiced ease.

“Captain Hawkins is always pleased with new additions to the crew.” The scarred man says, and Flint didn’t bother to grant him with an answer.

The entrance is a pulley gate made of bark that swings above them like a guillotine when they finally enter the camp itself.

It’s large as he suspected and imposing like the walls that surround it. There’s a small arena of sand for sparring and a make-shift tent surrounded by weapons; piles of them. As if they had collected them from their prizes of the past. At the far end of the camp, resting in shadow, are cages against the tall fence. He can see movement inside but he’s too far away to tell who is housed there. At the right, in the far back corner is another large stained tent, held up by brambles and overgrowth. The scarred man leads them there through a path of small flickering torches. He halts them at the front of the oddly shaped tent and they wait in silence. There’s a small roar of wind far off into the dark and Flint finds himself looking back to spot Silver as if he could disappear.

After a few moments of shared breathing, a man steps out of the flaps of the tent. At first, it’s too shadowed to tell much about him except his tattered clothing like the rest of the men and a necklace that appeared to be made of bone.

He steps forward into the torchlight confidently and his eyes are immediately on Flint’s. The open challenging scrutiny leaves him reeling. The man has yet to even blink.

The second thing Flint notices is that this man is uniquely striking with handsome delicate features. His eyes are a light blue as if stolen from the day, but they didn’t house kindness or fear. There is something else beneath them, churning and unreadable. He’s young, around the same age Silver was when they first met. He’s about the same height as Flint, they nearly come head to head in that regard. His hair rests softly against his ears; threatening to fall across his forehead. Flint wonders how such a man could tame these beasts around them? Could maintain control? But many wondered the same about Eleanor.

It’s unsettling how he’s yet to say a single word and yet his eyes haven’t left Flint’s. The shadow is there beneath it all. 

“Captain Hawkins.” Flint surmises.

A small smile grows ever so slowly on his lips, “And you are? Tell the truth now.” He warns smoothly with a flash of teeth.

“Mr. Arrow. I’ve—”

“One.” Hawkins interrupts and Flint squints at him with confusion.

“My name is Mr. Arrow and I’ve—”

“Two. I do sincerely hope there won’t be a third.” Hawkins replies darkly polite. There’s an edge to his tone, a warning and he maintains his small grin. Flint glares into those fearless eyes examining his and he says nothing. He didn’t appease him, nor did he have any desire to.

Hawkins nods once as if he read his thoughts and motions towards the men, “Bring me the other one.”

Flint is shoved out of the way and forced to the back as Silver is manhandled towards Hawkins who appears intrigued.

“You’ve one chance to be truthful. I’m afraid your friend tested my patience, which is usually very thin.” He tells Silver.

Flint watches Silver’s rigid back and the sway of his leg. He’s exhausted, they both are from traversing the jungle.

“I’m Long John Silver.” He announces with his usual confidence.

He watches Hawkins' eyes widen slightly at the confession, “Well…that is quite a story.” He releases a small comfortable chuckle and continues, “You’ve come back to collect your captain’s treasure then?”

“I know where it is, and I am the only one living that does.” Silver replies loudly to not only Hawkins but the men around them and Flint can tell by his tone that he’s giving Hawkins one of his small charming smiles.

“You’ve not come to collect the cache then?” Hawkins cleverly gathers and Flint eyes one of the men on guard who appear to be as eerily still as a statue.

“No, I’ve come to destroy it.” Silver relinquishes and Flint blinks in surprise at the admission.

This time Hawkins laughs as if such a thing pleased him, there’s a delirium behind it. Flint can even see it in those light eyes. There’s something very wrong with Captain Hawkins. It’s as if this place reached inside of him and possessed the young man, making the island take form. That is the only proper way to describe the feeling he received from being in his presence.  

“That my friend is why I don’t believe in coincidence. So many others have wailed at its invisible alter as if it could grant them the peace they’ve never been afforded. I’ve watched such a simple notion of avarice destroy all that believed in it. Yet, here you are.” Hawkins states proudly and he’s somehow awestruck as if Silver has afforded him something. Flint hated the implication. What this could mean. He hated what he knew to be true.

“I’m not sure I understand.” Silver replies and Flint knows that’s a lie because he does understand perfectly well.

Hawkins replies, softly, “Our goals are the same, Mr. Silver. I seek it to rid of its ghosts.”

There’s a moment that Flint can tell that Silver struggles with his mask but its slipping at those words; at the relief in the likeness he finds there and Flint shuts his eyes against the image.

\--

The world around them is a hazy blur and Silver’s fingers have grown numb from gripping the crutch so harshly. The object that’s become a part of him, is him, the only thing keeping him upright.

They are guided into one of the large cages at the back of the camp for the night until they’ve gained enough trust. Vines have taken over most of the enclosure and have insisted on wrapping themselves over each of the wooden bars. Inside, is one other occupant that is lying on the floor with his back to them. He didn’t stir at their entrance which makes Silver worry that he’s possibly dead. He rests his aching back against the bars and sets his hand on his thigh which throbs against his palm.

“You must be careful with Hawkins, he is not a stable individual.” Flint presses and Silver can feel the tension rising between the space of their shoulders.

“If we can get in his good favor than the sooner we can get out of this mess and deal with Smollett.” Silver declares and there’s a hushed silence that lingers in the darkness. He can tell Flint wishes to say more but nothing else is said between them. Silver understood how dangerous Hawkins seems to be but at the moment their goals are aligned and that in itself is an interesting concept.

By daybreak when neither of them has found sleep and the third occupant has yet to stir, the cage door opens. The scarred man and his group of brutes forcefully shove them out of the cage.

Silver had hoped that in the daylight this camp would appear less threatening, less foreboding, but that isn’t the case. A thin layer of mist resides around it, crowding the structures like wispy spider webs. The tall pointed fence resembles claws reaching out the dirt. They resided in a beast’s palm. This place has a story, a dark one, of misery. It haunts the foundations that rest in the mud and the island feeds off of it in symbiosis.

Silver attempts to tear his shoulders out of the grip of the men that held him uselessly and watches with growing dread as they shove Flint to his knees in the dirt in front of them. He spots Hawkins approaching them as his boots splash in the unforgiving mud. He’s wearing a dark set of gloves and in his right hand is a pistol. Hawkins’ hair softly caresses his forehead as a dark sly smile stretches his lips.

“Good morning to you both!” He exclaims cheerily.

“What the fuck is this?” Silver yells and Hawkins' eyes flicker to his with a pleased expression of muffled excitement.

Flint remains ever still, calm and blatantly unafraid.

“Captain Flint. That is what they call you is it not? Risen from the dead?” Hawkins questions more than guesses but Flint didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. Silver fights against the men that held him tightly in place but they seem immovable. Even sliding his crutch would only cause him to topple forward in the position he found himself in.  

“My father told me stories about you. He said you murdered lord Alfred Hamilton and his mistress aboard the Maria Aleyne. Is that true?” Hawkins’ amusement grows dangerous, and he taps his pistol against his thigh with his gloved hand. Flint remains silent to the display.  

“There is no judgment here. You have my word.” Hawkins presses his hand to his heart in mockery. “The problem that I find myself in is that I don’t believe you’re here to destroy your own cache unless you can convince me otherwise.”

Flint speaks up loudly with unguarded viciousness, “The cache isn’t mine to destroy. It doesn’t belong to you or I.”

“Well…that answers that then, does it not?” Hawkins replies and then promptly lifts his pistol to Flint.

“STOP!”

Silver’s desperate voice echoes loudly across the camp and up into the trees, casting out the birds that rest there. Hawkins is watching him now, the pistol still pointed at Flint. “How curious.” He says quietly.

“Without him, I will not aid you in your search for the cache, you might as well shoot us both.” Silver casts out bitterly.

Hawkins’ answering chuckle is a low rumble. “I had heard that it was you who murdered Captain Flint on this very island but it’s very clear to me now why that was never accomplished.”

Silver grinds his jaw and attempts to feign a collected calmness. Hawkins lowers his pistol, only to immediately point it at Flint once again, which causes Silver to flinch from the unexpected action. “Unmistakable.” He adds satisfied with the small experiment. Silver’s answering expression resembles more of a snarl than a smirk. Hawkins slowly steps away from Flint, lowering his pistol to his side again and strolls towards Silver ever so calmly.

Up close, those light eyes search over his face for any detail he can gather. It’s suffocating, almost as much as the heat itself that coils like a snake.

“I don’t have any rum, it’s at the bottom of the sea along with my ship, but I do have tea,” Hawkins states, softly. The pistol remains casually at his side.

“No thank you.” Silver responds snippily. The anger boils to the surface and is far more contained then he wishes it to be.

“I’ll pour some anyway,” Hawkins says with a friendly smile as if what just transpired is suddenly forgotten for the sake of politeness.

Silver blinks at him as Hawkins turns on his boot and begins walking away from him in the mud. He pats Flint’s shoulder twice chummily and continues on. The men release him and Silver sags against his crutch. Flint carefully stands from his kneeling position; his pants dirtied with soil.

“I’d join him if I were you,” Flint advises quietly.

Silver wants to ask Flint useless questions. He wants to wrap his arms around him and bury his face into his warm neck but there is too much between them now. The chasm is growing ever deeper, and he didn’t have the energy to cross it.

“I’m fine, John,” Flint answers anyway because he’s always read Silver’s thoughts as if they were his own.

\--

The walk to the tent feels longer than Silver had remembered from before without the torches guiding his way. They still stood, burnt out in their posts, waiting to be brought back to life. This place resembles a violent mirage, hazy and disconnected from everything else around it. It’s hard for Silver to collect his thoughts here and maintain a sense of control.

He lifts the flap to the tent and is presented with a wooden table and two chairs, on the table are two filled expensive china teacups which are slightly chipped with age. There’s a cot in the corner with a cover over it, a make-shift shelf of books crowded and piled up. There is an old lantern resting at the base of the cot and an ink and quill against a half table with illegible writing across the parchment. Dare Silver think that it seems cozy? Much different than in the camp. There is warmth here, but the humidity seems manageable in this small space. Even the books appeared well taken care of and read thoroughly.

Hawkins steps back from the small desk across the room and nears the table at the center. “Mr. Silver.” He says quick and pulls out a chair to sit. His eyes slide over Silver’s form, from his crutch to his face. “Do join me? I doubt you get much enjoyment from standing these days.” Hawkins replies and it’s a mocking jab, but Silver deflects it easily. He gives him a smirk back and sits slowly across from him in the rickety wooden chair. He grasps the teacup with his fingers idly and notices that it’s cold. He lifts it to his nose and sniffs the strong scent that permeates off of it.

“This is not tea. It’s rum. The very thing you said you didn’t have.” Silver admits.

“Yes, well, can’t have the men knowing there is any left, they’d squander it,” Hawkins replies curtly, flitting his hand forward absently and then gulping the rest of his. He holds up his empty chipped teacup with a pink faded flower to Silver and continues, “Found these on a merchant ship, they seem so delicate.”

“You mentioned your ship sank?” Silver prods and leans back his chair, avoiding the contents of the teacup in front of him.

Hawkins sighs and replies, “Yes. Not long ago a small group of my crew decided to plan a mutiny. They were going to steal my ship and disappear beneath the horizon. So, I put them on it, set fire to it and sank it.”

Silver blinks at him perplexed, “You sank your own ship?”

“That is what I said, yes. We must all make sacrifices for the greater good right, Mr. Silver?” Hawkins replies and leans back to mirror Silver’s posture like a Chameleon.

“You’re building your own society here on Skeleton Island?” Silver asks moving the conversation onward from such madness and Hawkins reaches across the table to snatch the second untouched teacup filled with rum.

“It’s a love story is it not? Between you and Captain Flint?” He completely ignores Silver’s question and examines his eyes with amused interest.

Silver dances around the answer with a sharp-edged smile, “It’s best I had a clearer picture as to why our goals align. It is the key to building trust after all.”

“People go mad at the prospect of imminent wealth as I stated before. I want no part in its trickery. That cache has nothing of value to me.” Hawkins replies and oddly enough didn’t sound much like a pirate at all.

Silver huffs a laugh, “But you’re a pirate?”

“My father was a pirate. I’ve never aspired to be one, but the choice was taken from me. I consider myself a collector of items rather than a plunderer. What of you the _great_ Long John Silver?” Hawkins speaks truthfully and sips the rest of the rum from the second teacup.

His words were almost ridiculous in their familiarity to his own situation. “Truthfully, I’ve never wanted to be a pirate either, but I’ve made peace with it.” Silver replies.

“I doubt you’ve made peace with anything, you just live with it as I do. As we all do. Why is it that you want the cache destroyed?” Hawkins asks and watches Silver beneath his eyelashes as he spins the teacup slowly on the table.

“I shall give you the same vague reason you gave me. That too many have been uselessly lost to its thrall.” Silver replies whip-quick.

“Well, that is the dull answer. The answer that paints us in the best light, is it not? I doubt you aspire towards the greater good. Not after all this time.” Hawkins answers bluntly.  

“My reasons are my own, is it not enough that our goals are the same?” Silver squints at him and ignores the oncoming discomfort of a headache.

Hawkins smiles again with his teeth while watching his teacup, absently, “If it wasn’t enough, John Silver, you’d be dead.”

Silver answers that grin with one of his own that seems to slip across his mouth without permission. “I am very glad we’ve come to an agreement then.”

“I’m not that reasonable. I’m often given to spontaneous whims that sometimes lead to unnecessary violence, for which I don’t have the proper conscience to regret, but you…I can already recognize that you are an anomaly. An outlier. It’s dreadfully refreshing even if it leads to your death.” Hawkins admits with subdued fondness.

“I suspect marooning yourself on Skeleton Island doesn’t leave you many options with whom to converse with, Captain Hawkins.”  Silver says and rests his hand against his thigh.

Hawkins tosses the teacup once into the air and then proceeds to smash it to bits on the floor beside the table. Small shards slide against Silver’s boot from the force of it. There is no anger to be found, just the collected practiced calm. “Dear god, I hate that title. Call me Jim.” He says with a strange friendliness.

Silver nods once in acknowledgment and Hawkins continues, “Tell me your _hound_ won’t interfere?”

“Flint won’t interfere.” Silver lies plainly, and he watches Hawkins’ eyes examine his, searching out that very lie.

Hawkins' answering tone is cheery, but his eyes are shadowed, “Then I do hope you make yourself at home.”

The strangeness of it was, is that Jim Hawkins from first glance appeared the wide-eyed young man that would quake and search in awe at the tales Silver could tell but perhaps that’s what made him dangerous. A young man that isn’t young at heart at all. It’s reflection of who Silver was himself at this age and it’s incredibly disconcerting. Whatever kind of monster Hawkins is, he didn’t wish to peer into a distorted mirror to find out.

There’s a smile like a blade waiting to be answered and Silver, with his trained bravado, obliges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plenty more conflict to come :P I hope you are enjoying this still and that Hawkins is/will be to your liking. 
> 
> You can follow me on tumblr @brassfannibal for piratey things and updates! Thank you :)


	15. Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pew in this is not a blind beggar lol he's much different. I hope you enjoy!

The palm of skeleton island is filled with invisible spiders. Flint is attempting to ascribe meaning to every fleeting shadow as if there is a purpose to those jagged edges. It is a rarity for any place to give him a prodding discomfort, but this camp is something else entirely. There’s a haze to his thoughts here as if the dark is trying to claim them; steal them away to give them to their forest king.

Flint dared to look upon Silver who is sitting across from him in the cage they still occupy. His head is slumped against the bars in slumber and his palms rest limply in his lap. Silver always looked unburdened in sleep; youthful.

The torchlight didn’t grant him any peace. Being able to see the dark shapes of Hawkins’ men didn’t make this place seem any less disconcerting. Flint would have to rely solely on Silver to get them out of this mess and his ability to hopefully charm Hawkins into a false sense of security. It wouldn’t be easy, especially since Hawkins is clever enough to understand their dynamic. Hawkins would have to be willing to be manipulated, he would have to like Silver enough to allow it. The same way that Flint did; that they allowed the manipulation of each other.

John Silver could do anything he wished to Flint. He could shoot him, bury him, forget him, he could kiss him forever beneath the moon and Flint would be accepting to it. The thought of such a connection used to torment Flint, it used to terrify him. Now, sitting in this cage in the dark, watching the soft sleeping face in front of him, he feels nothing but the crumbling melancholic adoration unburdened by denial.  

Flint’s eyes slide away to the darkness beyond when Silver begins to stir awake. Flint eventually senses Silver’s eyes roaming over his face in exhausted recognition. He feels greedy all of the sudden, he wants to find forgiveness in those eyes, he wants to bury the hole they’ve dug between them. When Flint finally meets his eyes, Silver asks quietly, “Would her war, become your war once again?”

“Her war is my war. It has always been ours.” Flint replies truthfully, and Silver closes his eyes as if to banish the words. Flint continues, “Tell me, what do you want from me, John?”

Silver slowly opens his eyes again but doesn’t grant Flint eye contact. “To be done with this misery.” His voice is small and quiet. Flint can see the flickering light paint shadows over his face as he swallows and stares absently at a point in space behind Flint.

He continues with an old defeat, “I’m done.”

There’s a hollowed out silence between them for a time until it’s interrupted, “I hope the heat is keeping you both company.” Comes a smooth voice from beside the cage.

Hawkins is standing at the door with his gloved hands gripping two of the bars.  There are shadows eating away his face and Flint can only see half of his wide smile. He’s looking at Flint and doesn’t take his eyes off of him.

“I usually go for a nightly walk by my lonesome but since I was passing by I thought I’d give out an invitation.” Hawkins cheer grates on Flint’s nerves. He may have kept his eyes on him, but the invitation was for Silver after all.

“A walk in the jungle in the pitch of night?” Flint questions because he can’t help himself.

“So many beasts are frightened by the light of day but in the dark, they thrive. I find it’s best when shadow molds with night.” Hawkins answers and Flint only has a glare for him.

“I’ll go.” Silver replies and he doesn’t catch Flint’s eye.  He slowly pushes himself up from the cage with his crutch wobbling in his fingers beneath him.

\--

Silver found it exceptionally difficult to remain resolute in that divide from Flint. Much like the many times before, Silver is tempted to crumble and let things be the way Flint wants them but what good has come from that? Flint would gift him with swelling gratitude and he would wrap himself in him once again but what of the future?

“The camp will expand this way, I already have plans in place to build it.” Hawkins prattles towards the darkened trees. He’s holding a small lantern and it lightens his features menacingly.

He suggests politely, “Will you take this please?” and he holds out the lantern to Silver who hesitantly grabs the rusted handle from him.

“Why the fuck are we out here?” Silver questions because he doubts Hawkins truly meant to take him on a stroll in the darkness.

“Did you take that ship in the bay? My scouts told me pirates had slaughtered the crew on board.” Hawkins asks curiously and rests his hands on his pistol holstered by a leather belt on his chest.  

Silver limps beside him as the lantern attracts large buzzing insects to its murky light. “We did. It belongs to a man named Smollett who is also after the cache.”

“I had a good laugh. I’ve seen his encampment to the west, larger than you’d think and waving the bloody British flag as if they’ve staked a claim on this island. So, that is my answer, Mr. Silver.” Hawkins says truthfully and casts a shadowed side smile in his direction.

“You’re taking me to his encampment then?” Silver surmises and wobbles when his crutch begins to sink in the mud.

Hawkins nods once and says, “All that I require is a promise from you, something to seal the deal between us.”

“I’m not fond of promises.” Silver snippily adds.

“Do relax. It’s not as if I’m asking you to part with another limb.” Hawkins replies and chuckles darkly towards the large overgrown shapes of the trees.

To Silver though, it seems exactly that, that in this moment he would be giving a part of himself to this beast with a delicate face. That this is somehow more than just mere words.

“What exactly would I be promising?” Silver fishes and Hawkins sighs dramatically before quickening his pace ahead of the lantern light and into the edges of the dark.

Silver is unable to keep up and he can’t spot his figure any longer. The lantern is too dim to stretch much beyond him. Hawkins calls from the darkness, “That you will not betray me, that we are in this little adventure together, that your hound will heel.”

The last thing Silver could ever do is bring Flint to heel. He’s always been unpredictably wild; a question mark for Silver to forever ponder over.

He stops his thoughts on a breath and irritatingly swings the lantern towards the crackling sounds of the brush beside him. “And if I don’t promise these things?” Silver pushes the issue dangerously and gains enjoyment out of the crescendo of adrenaline.

There’s nothing but dead silence now, except for the buzzing bugs reveling in the suffocating heat surrounding him. He thinks somewhere in his vicinity is Hawkins standing in the dark, stilled and waiting as if he could hear Silver’s heartbeat.

He sets the lantern down calmly by his feet to give his eyes enough darkness to adjust to and leans on his crutch feigning comfort.

“I will give you that promise once I see Smollett’s camp, otherwise you can kill me now if you wish.” Silver calls to the dark. He doesn’t receive an answer for some time and Silver eyes his periphery where the snapping of twigs resounds but soon vanishes.

He knows Hawkins must gain amusement out of frightening others, but Silver isn’t planning on giving him that satisfaction, not after everything he’s been through. Silver has the regrets and imaginings of a ghost and if this madman wants to end him here then so be it.

Hawkins soft voice startles him from behind and he turns to meet his presence, “I thought it was established by now that I do not wish you dead. The path to the camp is clear.”

He’s standing there with what looks to be a bright yellow flower in the pocket of his jacket, which wasn’t there before.

“You scouted the path in the dark?” Silver asks suspiciously.

“The moonlight has always been a natural guide, Mr. Silver. I also found a group of hibiscuses hiding beneath a rock face.” Hawkins replies and Silver eyes the flower as if such a thing could bite him.

“Follow me.”

Silver limps behind Hawkins who keeps his pace steady ahead of him. He didn’t walk slow for his benefit nor did he attempt to walk faster to torment him. It’s how Flint often treated him, and he knew it was a conscious effort.

“Where do you hail from?” Hawkins attempts idle conversation, but Silver knew he wouldn’t ask unless he’s genuinely interested.

“White Chapel. What of you?” Silver supplies the lie easily and swings the squeaky lantern beside him.

“I came from the sea like that of Neptune,” Hawkins replies with a hidden grin to his words.

“Comparing yourself to the gods? How humble of you.” Silver answers with a huff and nearly trips over a gnarled branched collapsed into the mud beneath him.

Hawkins continues bluntly, “Do tell me why you and Flint never conquered the world as the stories suggested you would have.”

“The world is unconquerable. Flint saw it though, before anyone else could, that civilization was coming for us all and so it did.”  Silver states failing to sound stoic on the subject.

He clenches his jaw when he realizes Hawkins picks up on the slight waver.

“You speak of him with such fondness and despair. It should bore me, but it doesn’t.” Hawkins concludes.

“I must admit that I find your company disconcerting at best.” Silver adds truthfully, and Hawkins releases a small laugh.

“But you’re here all the same. I find that most people grow fond of me against their better judgment.” Hawkins replies smugly, and Silver throws a smile at his back. The swinging glow of light between them acts as a shield to the teeth of the jungle.

“I’m out here because our goals align, nothing more and nothing less but you may continue to flatter yourself.” Silver invites.

“I suspect your beginnings with Flint were the same. Then you became lovers?” Hawkins prods, curiously.

“And why does this hold any meaning for you?” Silver asks, his strained smile fades away.

Hawkins suddenly veers from the path and into the thick brush. Silver follows quickly as the twigs stick to his clothing, attempting to hold him forever in place. There’s a darkened ridge not far from their position and Hawkins crouches down beside it, waiting for Silver to join him.

Beyond the jungle in a clearing against a moss-covered hill is a large camp of tents and men with torches. The dots of fire align like sentries set up to guard it.

“It seems Smollett is a paranoid bastard.” Silver states and crouches uncomfortably against his crutch. The mud beneath him didn’t create any give or support and he had to lean awkwardly against a soggy fallen tree.

“Sadly, yes. Which is why I think if you and I were to combine our men we could take that encampment from him just like his precious ship.” Hawkins offers and Silver hums in understanding.

When Silver doesn’t properly reply, Hawkins continues, “You said it yourself that you are the only one who knows where the cache resides. We both want the same thing here. This is a chance to accomplish that goal and one of the few times where I am inclined to be reasonable. You be honest with me and I will be honest with you, Mr. Silver.”

He holds out his gloved hand with a smirk hardly visible in the moonlight. Silver wasn’t about to tell him that it was actually Flint who knew where the cache is because that could prove disastrous. Hawkins could abandon this pact and just attempt to torture it out of Flint and Silver wouldn't have that.

“I will take your hand as long as you promise to release Flint as well as me. We will then work together to be rid of Smollett.” Silver reiterates and Hawkins nods as if his excitement is building.

Silver slips his hand in his as Hawkins closes his fingers and jerks him forward towards him to hold his eyes like prisoners. He’s searching out any lies again; breaking the comfortable barrier of personal space. He studies Silver’s face with genuine curiosity as if something perplexed him.

“You’re an abyss, Mr. Silver. Do others truly see themselves in you? You let them have that illusion? As you are attempting to do with me now.”  Hawkins quietly comments, and he appears more impressed than perturbed. Silver watches Hawkins’ eyes roam to his lips and Silver can’t help but give him the usual feral grin.

“Am I a reflection of you then?” Silver questions in a whisper. The torches in the shadowy camp below gather together and then part like a choreographed dance.

“No, I don’t want another self. I suspect most people do but I’d much rather the challenge of the unpredictable and you intrigue me.” Hawkins replies and leans in dangerously close. Silver didn’t back away from the closeness. He remains still and unbothered.

“I look forward to putting this plan in motion.” Silver insists. Watching Hawkins smile up close is even more disconcerting. There is a spark of something in those light eyes of his but ultimately, they held little regard for most things. Silver knew that he had him already. Hawkins may be mad, but he can be tamed like the other beasts Silver’s gathered to him.

Hawkins moves back from his breathing space and immediately stands from the dirt. He gracefully runs a gloved hand through his hair and asks with a small rumbling laugh, “Will you leave Smollett to me?”

“Do you know him then?” Silver inquires and forces himself up by his crutch.

“I think any man who wishes to fly the British flag on my island should die by blade. I think the island would welcome the sacrifice.” Hawkins replies darkly and turns towards the jungle, traipsing with his boots through the rotting vegetation.

Ignoring the likeness that sentence has to Flint, Silver replies, “Skeleton Island belongs to no one and those that have tried to claim it disappear in its jaws.”

Hawkins holds out his palms to gesture around them with a huff and says, “The island and I are bound together. I’ve already given the sacrifice required for such a pact.”

Silver hobbles beyond a bustled tree root and studies the glowing lantern light encompassing Hawkins' lithe figure.

“What sacrifice was that?” Silver ventures but Hawkins remains ominously silent and gives no answer.

\--

Flint could plan his escape from this wretched cage but what then? He could follow his memory to the buried cache, dig it up and have no way of hauling it back. If he attempted it then he may just lose Silver’s trust in him for good. He didn’t want to repeat the slaughter and shattering of his heart.

The scarred man tapped on the wooden bars of the cage softly and Flint is unsure how long he’s been at it since he’s been lost within his own mind.

“You’re supposed to be the most dreaded of us all.” He mocks but there’s a hint of boredom to the man’s tone.

“What do they call you?” Flint sighs. He couldn’t give a damn, but it was enough to draw his mind away from the approaching precipice.

“Pew.” He says, truthfully.  

Flint sits up from his slouching position and eyes him before glancing at the mud crowding his boots. “The men look up to you. I’ve seen it already.” Flint encourages.

“They look up to me because they have to, it is the way of things.” Pew bitterly recites.

Flint stands up in the shadow away from the torchlight, “Why follow Captain Hawkins?”

“He delivered us to paradise.” Pew recites as if he was given the mantra to repeat.

“Paradise? To slave after him in the heat?” Flint presses and he lets an unfriendly smile loose on his lips.

The torches in the background only add to the shadows more than create light. There’s a nagging feeling in the back of his mind of an old worry. A worry for Silver. How long had it been since he went on his stroll with that lunatic?

“You’ll never understand the sacrifice it took to give us this place. The blood.” Pew answers with a snarling grin.

“What was this sacrifice?” Flint asks and answers that expression with his own false amusement.

There’s movement from the back entrance and Pew stands to attention, moving away from Flint to greet his king. Flint’s eyes immediately find Silver who appears to be in high spirits. He didn’t glance Flint’s way as he limps through the camp beyond the cages and disappears from view.

“Captain Flint, how do you fare?” Hawkins' voice comes from beside the cage as he unlatches the door. He opens it with a satisfying squeak and waits for Flint to walk out of it. The smile on Hawkins’ face is strained as if he isn’t pleased with this arrangement. Flint squints at him suspiciously and then steps out of the cage to the mud.

“There is a tent that is yours temporarily and you should find Silver inside of it, he will explain to you the details of our deal.” Hawkins replies and Flint glares at him in rigid dislike.

“What deal is this?” He asks and Hawkins waves him away before leaving him without a thought. The dismissal shouldn’t bother him, but it grates on his nerves like a dull blade.

He walks towards the large tent with the weapons stacked outside of it like spiked effigies. He lifts the muddy flap and steps inside.  There is one cot, big enough for two, a dim lantern lit in the corner casting flitting dark shapes across the ceiling that surround Silver’s long shadow. It stretches to Flint's boots as if reaching out. Silver sat on the cot with his crutch resting beside him. The high spirits from a moment ago completely snuffed out like a candle. It was an act, of course it was an act. Silver resembles defeat once again, unable to look at Flint. The raw despair of it cuts that old perpetual wound they shared between them open.

“What deal did you make?” Flint calms his voice, but he suspects Silver picks up on the irritation beneath.

“Hawkins showed me Smollett’s camp, it’s large, bigger than we thought and he proposed that we bring our men together to defeat Smollett and I agreed.” Silver replies quietly but resolutely. He kept his eyes towards the floor, watching his own shadow.

“That’s it then? Then what? You both destroy the cache as well?” Flint questions, he hadn’t realized he had been so angry, but the buildup of it has been accumulating since Silver left to go for a stroll.

He expects Silver to shout at him but he refrains as if the energy required is nowhere to be found.

He says in a soft voice wavering from exhaustion, “The deal is made.”

Flint could yell to make up for the lack of noise to match the drumming of his heart but he refrains. Instead, he watches Silver remove his boot with a cringe and all the things he wishes to toss at him fades into the darkening background.

“I’ll sleep on the floor.” Silver casts out.

Flint’s voice breaks on his abrupt reply, “Don’t you dare.”

Silver finally glances up at him then and there’s a genuine meekness to his expression as if he hadn’t expected Flint to react the way he did. Even in the large tent and this enclosed space Silver appears so far away. It’s as if Flint is slowly floating away from him at sea and there’s nothing either of them could do to rescue the other.

He observes as Silver climbs and scoots onto the bed, lying down, facing away from Flint. His curly mess of hair rests against a flattened pillow. Flint approaches the respite with caution and slips his dirtied boots off next to Silver’s haphazardly. He lies down on the bed beside him and leaves a small gap between Silver’s back and his chest. He softly moves Silver’s hair off the pillow with the tips of his fingers reverently.

The silence collects in his chest and he watches Silver’s shoulder rise and fall with his quiet breathing.

“Look at me,” Flint commands.

His reply is abrupt and mournful, “I can’t.”

“John…” Flint whispers and Silver releases a pained breath before he turns slowly to face him. His hair falls comfortably to his shoulders from the movement, framing his face beautifully. It’s an entrancing image that will never fail to leave him feeling profoundly at ease. Silver’s eyes reflect the lantern light and are filling with unshed tears.

“You tricked me on the Erebus. I let you trick me.” Silver says, and his voice is quiet, broken.

“You are not my tool, John. You have my…” Flint begins and stops against the onset of the rushing fragmented thoughts that keep him from finishing. Flint reaches out hesitantly and Silver lets him rest his palm on his warm cheek. He brushes his thumb softly beneath his eye.

“I cannot do this again. Do not force this outcome again.” Silver pleads and Flint moves in close to press his forehead to his. He harshly whispers, “You must know that Madi is the only one with a rightful claim to it. Letting that madman destroy it would be a profound betrayal of who we are.”

“Who are we? I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.” Silver repeats in a whisper and Flint feels a warm tear slide against his palm from the corner of Silver’s eye.  This time he cups Silver’s face with both of his hands, moving back to stare into the deep blue of those familiar eyes. The anxious swirling doubt attempts to climb between them but it’s Silver that closes the small space and crashes his mouth with Flint’s in a desperate whimper. The kiss is vicious at first, Flint is unprepared for the assault on his lips with Silver’s teeth. He swallows Silver’s panicked vulnerability with a trembling gasp. Silver moves half on top of his chest, forcing Flint’s back against the bed and meets his tongue violently. Flint decides in the trapped heat of this tent that he’d let Silver do whatever he wished to him if it could bring him back to him, if it could give him a semblance of purpose.

It’s not but a moment later that Silver breaks the kiss and hovers over Flint like something he’s dreamt up from the sea. He looks utterly ripped open, his walls unable to be rebuilt. He’s bare to Flint as he is to Silver.

“That cache is our misery.” Silver says devastated.

“Not anymore. Let it go, John. It holds no sway over us any longer. It doesn’t belong to us.” Flint says with soft concern.

“I almost fired that pistol in this very forest and it would have ended you. It would have ended me. That cache holds that crumbling place.” Silver stresses and now the tears are streaming down his face unable to hide.

“Destroying it won’t banish the misery. It won’t erase those memories. They will still be there in the dark of your mind as they are shared in mine. We bear them together.” Flint encourages and runs his hand slowly up Silver’s side.

“There is no escaping the nightmare is there? Your war will start again.” Silver replies and a tear falls from his chin, connecting with Flint’s beard.

“I want a life…” Flint repeats his words from the forest before they were interrupted by Hawkins men and he continues, “..with you.”

Flint watches Silver’s wild eyes search his as if his first instinct is to believe it’s a lie. He suddenly moves back and scrambles for his crutch uncoordinated, causing it to topple to the floor. Flint sits up quick and grabs Silver’s shoulders.

“Let go of me.” Silver warns.

Flint knows Silver’s first instinct is to always escape and so he releases him, letting him have this moment of panic. He didn’t leave as he thought he would though. He just sits on the edge of the bed, his shoulders heaving. He’s trapped in the vast open expanse of a mind without barriers.

“We escaped that nightmare a long time ago. It isn’t waiting in that cache; those ghosts have long left us. There is nothing of that time but us. We survived.”  Flint answers that slowing panic.

After a long moment of rash indecision, Silver carefully lies down with his back to him again and Flint mimics him, lying beside him.

“I’ve become one of those ghosts we carry around.” Silver admits tiredly to the room.

Flint scoots close to him again and presses himself against Silver’s back but Silver doesn't pull away, he doesn't run away. Flint wraps his arms around him tightly and presses his face into the back of his neck, in his mess of dark hair. It smells of the Earth, but the sea is fast fading from it. That simple realization shuffles into his mind to rest there in its vivid grief. They are the sea, aren’t they? Without it, their identities blur falsely, and Flint can’t recognize the cliff’s sharp edge.

“Where are we headed?” Silver questions and Flint rests his palm over Silver's heart. The thudding quiets the looming burden hanging over them.

The answer leaves Flint’s lips like a flock of birds taking flight, “Home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come with this shaky pact between them all. I hope you are enjoying it!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @brassfannibal for more piratey things and updates. Thank you :)


	16. Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be extremely angsty but I cut it down lol now it's the usual :P also get ready for some Hawkins character development!

The morning light would soon pull them from this comforting space in between and banish all that’s hidden. Silver lies on his side blinking at a slumbering Flint. It’s a rarity for Silver to wake before him and for him to be able to trace the worry lines of Flint’s face openly. His messy red hair rests partially over his closed eyes, softening his face.

The rage in Silver has quickly evolved into something nameless. A nameless fleeting sense of drowning beneath the weeds of this island. The bony brambles, like fingers, pull him into a slow descent. He had let himself be fooled. He had let himself be used.

“Was it a lie?” Silver whispers so softly that Flint didn’t stir. Does Flint really believe they are headed home? Is this dark path to something better?

Silver sits up slowly from the stiff cot bed and moves to the edge with his head in his hands. His barefoot connects with the lumpy rug beneath and his toes absently press against the soft give. He imagines such a rug in a small cottage resting on the coast. He imagines the ticking of a clock in another room and he imagines the playful light casting its way in through soft curtains. He can even hear the sound of the waves in this fantasy if he listens close enough. Those waves from an unknown shore carry across from another time.

“Are we to head back to our camp soon?” Flint’s voice is silk, unmarred by sleep, and it collapses that place of light.

Silver runs his hands through his tangled hair and ties it back with the usual piece of fraying rope.

“I will inform Hawkins that you are agreeable to the deal.” Silver mentions coolly and Flint retorts, “I wouldn’t say I’m agreeable.”

“Forgive me, you’re right. When are you ever agreeable?” Silver snaps grumpily as he slips his boot on.

Flint warmly reminisces, “When I allowed a thief back onto my crew.”

Silver stills before reaching for his crutch and straightens his back at the edge of the bed. It’s as if Flint fired a pistol through his heart. He can’t playfully banter back like he knew Flint hopes he would. There’s shuffling on the bed but he doesn’t invade Silver’s space.

“Where are you?” Flint quietly asks, echoing back his own words. They’re always echoing.

_Where was he?_

It’s as if a part of him has receded like the tide but has yet to return.

Silver turns to face him tiredly, “Let’s get this done.”  

The humidity sticks to Silver’s skin when he limps from the tent, letting the flap close behind him. The sun is barely rising, revealing the tops of the trees in eerie disorientation.

Pew is standing beside it as if he’s been waiting for Silver’s appearance. “The Captain wants to meet with you.”

Silver nods expecting it and turns to head towards the large shadow of a tent that Hawkins resides in. The flap is up as if to welcome those that approached it, but Silver knew a spider web when he saw one. He stands at the entrance and peers inside at the organized room once more and Hawkins turns to him with an impish grin.

“Do come in.” He invites and Silver slowly slides his crutch inside.

“Are we to head to our camp?” Silver asks and eyes the pistol lying on Hawkins bed. He grabs it a moment later and fits it in the leather strap over his chest like a self-respecting pirate captain.  Silver tends to easily forget that fact, that Hawkins is a captain without his ship and yet his men don’t wish to desert him.

“You lied to me, didn’t you?” Hawkins says it casually as if he is asking about something trivial. He’s turned away from Silver preoccupying himself with a menial task.  

“I’m not sure what you mean. I’ve been as honest as I can be with you.” Silver replies calmly as his grip on his crutch tightens. He expects the tension to bloom but it remains in the background from Hawkins’ unbothered demeanor.

“Don’t fret. I understand. One does not always wish to be truthful about their past.” Hawkins supplies and turns back to him then, keeping his grin to greet him.  He studies Silver with blatant appreciation, gliding his eyes down to his crutch as he has done before.

“What little I’ve told you is the truth.” Silver lies.

“When you said you were from White Chapel…you had…that smile, the small one about to threaten me now. I have the same habit when I fib.” Hawkins remarks and Silver’s brows knit together.

His smile is strained, and his reply is whip-quick, “Think what you will about that small piece of information because it is all you will glean from me.”

Hawkins holds up his hands in mock surrender, “As I said, I understand. I just wanted you to know that you and I are similar in that regard. I suspect it’s easy for you to lie? You’ve done it often enough in the past? Sometimes you don’t even mean to, it just…slips.”

Silver’s strained smile evolves quickly into a smirk, “You can pretend I’m a puzzle if it brings you comfort.”

“But you do not disagree?” Hawkins tilts his head at him.

“We’re all liars and thieves here. I just blend in with the rest. Now, we are wasting daylight.” Silver says and pivots towards the entrance.

Hawkins snickers, “I doubt you’ve ever blended in anywhere, Mr. Silver. Don’t do yourself a disservice by pretending to be no one.”

“It bothers you that you’ll never be able to read me like one of your books.” Silver concludes and begins to hobble towards the exit. Hawkins suddenly steps in front of him with his hands clasped behind his back. It’s similar to Flint’s stance but not quite the military stature. Hawkins’ light eyes twist his mind into an anxious maelstrom. They are dead, lacking, and yet a spark beneath suggests something beyond mania.

They stand there in an odd silence and Hawkins remains eerily still. There always seems to be a hidden smile beneath his lips. If Silver believed in otherworldly notions he’d believe that Hawkins lacks a certain humanity, that he had given himself entirely to this island. That Hawkins himself acts as its host of sorts.

“Pew and I will accompany the two of you.” Hawkins finally says, startling Silver back into this present space.

“We will wait for you at the entrance.” Silver replies.   

\--

Flint stood outside the entrance of the camp looking upwards towards the godforsaken infinite canopy. Silver is waiting with him, silently brooding close to a bush of poisonous berries.

“You and I both know Hawkins will betray us if it suits him. An alliance with someone as unpredictable as him puts us at a disadvantage. It would have been best to take the information about Smollett back to camp ourselves and dealt with Hawkins later. We will have to deal with him…you realize that?” Flint presses, raising his brow.

Silver turns around to face him and Flint watches those dark thoughts scatter from his eyes like hungry ghosts.

“We were at his mercy, this is the only practical solution to our problem.” Silver replies coldly and Flint studies the tension in his shoulders visible from where he stands. He ignored Flint’s question all together which troubles him greatly.

“This is not going to end well for Hawkins,” Flint whispers harshly and Silver keeps his eyes on him before he finally answers.

“I don’t think it will end well for any of us.” Silver surmises, darkly. That haunted expression he despises is claiming Silver’s features once again. Flint sighs audibly as they are interrupted by Hawkins’ and Pew’s appearances. The jacket that Hawkins wore partially resembled something of military fashion that’s been modified. Flint wonders if he murdered whoever that original jacket belonged to and made it into something befitting a pirate.

“Isn’t this exciting?” Hawkins asks, looking between the two of them before clapping his gloved hands together once.

They begin their hike as clouds gather above the small spaces in the leaves. It begins to rain not long after. The humidity rose with the mist and made it hard to breathe.

Flint isn’t fond of the the way that Hawkins observes Silver, it fills him with immense unease and there’s nothing he can do to quell it at the moment. 

“Why do you wish to destroy the cache?” Flint sidles up beside the madman and dispenses any notion of small talk between them.

Hawkins turns to him then, giving Flint the full brunt of his confident stare as he did when they first met. He watches Hawkins' lip twitch slightly into a smile.

“It has no place here in the new world.” Hawkins aptly states and the wording does nothing to ease Flint’s dread.

“This is the new world then? And you are the king?” He questions as if he’s speaking to the jungle.

Flint once falsely promised his men something similar. He knew that such a thing wasn’t truly possible but if enough people believed in it then that’s all that’s required.

“There are no kings here.” Hawkins' voice morphs into Billy’s and Flint blinks against the memories it evokes. He attempts to appear unfazed by the wording.

“Your men treat you as though you’re their savior.” Flint replies and Hawkins hums a laugh before biting his lip in amusement.

“I find it amusing that Captain Flint is the one asking me these questions. The dreaded pirate of our nightmares.” Hawkins mocks and Flint feels a spark of anger light him up like a kindled fire.

Flint snarls, “Do not mistake my docility for weakness.” He stops his speech, watching the smile on Hawkins' lips grow as if he enjoyed the change of tone. Flint nods towards Silver and continues, “He is the only reason you still draw breath.”

Hawkins rests his palm against the pistol on his chest and says, “Might I say the same about you.”

Flint has a sharp-edged smile of his own to return, “It won’t be long until civilization finds this place too.”

Hawkins smirk fades and Flint catches a glimpse of the true shadow beneath. He had the face of a youthful aristocrat but there’s really no doubt now that he holds something akin to Flint’s wrath.

“I will destroy anything that dares to fly a flag on this isle.” Hawkins declares quietly ominous. His eyes hold the color of the clear sky but nothing else beyond that.

\--

They make camp when the sun wanes with the insistence of Hawkins. Pew does whatever he’s told without much voiced as complaint and Silver rests on a log next to Flint as the fire crackles in the center. Through the flames, across from them, Silver meets Hawkins’ gaze. It’s a disturbing thrall he finds himself in; as if his abyss has greeted him, come alive and is ready to make conversation. What could he say to this distorted version of himself?

The flames devour half his face between them and then create his smile anew. He can’t look away. Should he look away? Perhaps, Silver entertained the idea that Hawkins’ madness is contagious. His men seemed to all possess it. Much like Flint’s grief.

“Did you sleep at all last night?”

Flint’s question is warm and welcoming. It draws his eyes away from the creature beyond the flames. He turns to face Flint beside him and notices the stiffness in his stature. Silver wonders if he observed him watching Hawkins. Flint’s eyes roam over Silver’s face, from his throat to his lips as if to check he’s still here. As if Silver could possibly disappear.

The warmth of those green eyes shadowed by the dancing flames causes Silver to swallow softly and wish that he could pretend they were somewhere else, coming home from a long journey.

Flint continues, “You look…troubled.”

Silver huffs and flashes his teeth in a bitter smile, “Troubled? Whatever gave you that idea?”

Flint sighs, “More so than as of late is what I meant.”

Silver imagined wrapping his arms in Flint, collapsing onto the grass to make him forget what he asked. He looks beautifully inviting.

“You know my thoughts, there is no need for me to repeat them and give them life once again.” Silver replies and studies Flint’s face the way he did a moment ago. He maps out the small barely visible smattering of freckles across his face that aren’t covered in shadow.

“I want to hear them, whatever they may be,” Flint whispers softly. Silver turns to face the fire once again and spots Hawkins lying in the dirt on his pack, facing away from the flames. Silver doubts that man ever sleeps though. Pew is sitting in the dark observing the jungle and not paying them any mind.

“I cannot watch this again.” Silver lets the words tumble out of him. He turns back to Flint who is partially warmed in the firelight. The trees that arch behind him resemble dark stilled giants.

“The cache doesn’t belong to us,” Flint repeats as if it’s become his mantra.

“I’m disappearing, I can feel myself letting go.” Silver’s voice cracks. Flint reaches out resting his palm against Silver’s cheek and the simple touch brings him temporarily back to himself.

“We will make it off this island, John,” Flint answers quietly.

“You don’t understand. I don’t wish to.” Silver answers in a whisper. His eyelashes brush against Flint’s fingers and Flint releases his face from his hand. He feels like collapsing from the loss of it. He can see Flint’s visceral fear careening in his expression.

Flint flounders for a moment and then asks, “Why ever not?”

Silver’s voice tries to calm his heart, “I will not be a part of that fucking nightmare again.”

Flint’s face hardens into his usual expression of anger when he doesn’t get what he wants, “I’m not leaving without you.”

“You cannot have both. You cannot have your war and a life. One of those paths will not exist in this future.” Silver replies and he can feel himself growing light-headed. His thoughts are vicious things.

“As I said I want a life,” Flint says softly and Silver shakes his head while clenching his jaw in frustration.

“But you also want the cache; your war.” Silver reminds him.

“The cache doesn’t belong to me and neither does the war it could give rise to.” Flint states and Silver blanches eyeing him suspiciously. The darkness scatters for a blessed moment.

“What the fuck does that mean? Don’t you dare use this to manipulate the situation to your advantage.” Silver harshly whispers and he can feel his heart pounding to be set free. He’s going to scream again, wail into the flames until he becomes them.

Flint’s voice wavers, “We’re leaving this place together.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me.” Silver says and shuts his eyes against it. Flint immediately wraps his arms around him and Silver stiffens. He sets his mouth close to the shell of Silver’s ear.

He can feel his breath against his skin, “I cannot be without you.”

Silver can’t help but deflate in his comforting hold. It’s always been like coming home. He’s a prisoner to it, to him, to the tie that binds them. All Silver wishes to do now is to turn his face and connect his lips with his but that is the spell that Flint has over him. He’s given all of himself to Flint and yet Silver still digs for more he can bestow onto his Neptune. This god made mortal of the sea.

Flint needn’t even ask and Silver will create new holes within himself to grant him his own twisted version of peace.

 _God_ , he loved him. John Silver has never loved anyone as violently and all-encompassing as he has this man wrapped around him now.

\--

Neither of them slept that night, they sat in silence after a while and watched the fire slowly die away to smoke and ash.

The next morning, Silver limped behind the others, surrounded by an insufferable humid mist. Hawkins’ slows his pace to join him and Silver feels like punching the knowing smirk from his face.

“This is the beginning of something. Not the middle or the end. Do you not see it?” Hawkins asks with thrumming excitement.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Silver snaps.

“This island was missing something, something to help us bring it into the future and that something is you, Mr. Silver.” Hawkins replies and Silver meets those eyes for a moment before chuckling at the ridiculousness.

“I’ve no interest in building a new world, already tried that I’m afraid.” Silver states and runs a hand over his face to push away the damp hair that's beginning to obscure his view.

“I understand. You need time to think it over but bear in mind that once the cache is destroyed we’ll be free of the misery. There are no wars to be fought here, just quiet building, pondering and perhaps persuasive recruitment.” Hawkins adds and steps into Silver’s space uncomfortably.

It’s clear he had heard some of the conversation him and Flint shared last night but that didn’t stop the small dalliance of attention he gave the matter. He says nothing else to encourage him but Hawkins seems pleased as if he knew the blatant manipulative seed he planted could possibly form roots.

They finally reach the beach camp when the sun is unforgivingly high in the sky. Dr. Livesey is the first to greet them with, “My god! It’s really you! I had thought…we had thought something dreadful had happened!”

He looks better than the last time they saw him, although the sun has thoroughly scorched his skin.

“Who might I ask are these gentlemen?” Dr. Livesey wipes his palm on his sandy pants and holds his hand out to Hawkins.

Hawkins looks astoundingly happy with the doctor’s welcoming nature. He replies, equally cheery as he takes his hand for a firm shake, “Captain Jim Hawkins and this is one of my crew Pew. We’ve come to form an alliance with your crew to rid of Captain Smollett.”

Silver knew Hawkins friendliness towards Dr. Livesey is the same that he bestowed to the doctor when they first met. He recognizes an easy mark.

Ben appears from the crowd of crewmen that are gathering around them and Flint takes charge, his voice booming across the beach, “Get all the men ready. Tomorrow we head to Captain Hawkins’ camp.”

“Who the fuck is this? Been searchin’ that bleedin’ jungle for ya.” Comes the gruff voice. Silver and Hawkins turn to face Hands who is eyeing Silver with concern.

Hawkins steps forward and holds out his gloved hand with a wide smile. Hands stares at him as if he’s about to cleave an axe into his skull.

“This is Captain Jim Hawkins and this is Israel Hands.” Silver introduces them warily.

Hawkins eyes widen with delight, “Ah, Israel Hands! I can see the scar that Edward Teach left you. The stories are true then?”

Hands slides his murderous glare to Silver as if he's the one that created this annoyance out of thin air. 

Hands answers in his usual fashion, “I could gut you, here, now.” He motions with his small dagger in his hand for slicing fish.

Hawkins laughs with great amusement before slyly turning to Silver, “You collect hounds? Many strays find their way to you.”

Hands suddenly stalks towards him, blade held out, ready to make good on his word and Silver limps up between them with a huff. Hawkins slowly backs away with a small mocking bow with that vicious grin still on his lips.

“I am truly sorry if I have offended. I rather enjoy the company of beasts. Especially shunned ones.” He replies as he turns on his boot to leave them.

“What the fuck is goin’ on?” Hands snaps at Silver as they watch Hawkins stroll up the beach towards Flint.

“He’s…we don’t have a choice. Smollett’s camp is larger than we anticipated and with Hawkins help, we can be rid of him.” Silver replies with a shrug.

“I’ve met his father. Sailed with Sam Bellamy.” Hands states and Silver blinks at him in bewilderment.

“You’re fucking kidding me? What was he like?” Silver asks and finds Hawkins lithe figure chatting with an excitable Dr. Livesey.

“Didn’t like me much and I didn’t like him much. He believed in givin’ back the plunder and I was in the mind that no one deserved it.” Hands states, truthfully and finally puts his blade away.

“Giving back? He was a decent man then?” Silver asks.

“The fuck does it matter? None of us were ‘ _decent_ ’ or men back then. We was monsters through and through.” Hands replies, resting his palms on his belt.

“I’m just curious.” Silver admits, looking back down the shoreline and avoiding Flint’s figure altogether.

“Ain’t nothin’ good gonna come from curiosity for that man. Got nothin’ behind his eyes. Watch that one. Just give me the word and we’ll have one less to worry over.” Hands offers and Silver nods once.

He sighs, “He’s valuable to us as of now and there’s not much we can do about that. His men are loyal.”

Silver squints at Hands who is watching him skeptically, attempting to read him and most likely succeeding.

“Don’t fall into another trap.” Hands bluntly states and nods towards Flint before moving his eyes to Hawkins.

Silver smiles wide enough for the act of it to crack apart his face, “We will deal with Hawkins when the time comes.”

Strangely enough, Hands didn’t seem to believe him but he’s too exhausted with the issue to press it further.

Later into the night when the waves crash darkly against the wet shore, Silver sits on a jagged rock clawing out of the sand and overlooks the boundless muted skyline. He senses someone sit on the small boulder adjacent to him and half expected, half hoped it to be Flint but when he looks up his eyes find Hawkins.

There isn’t a smirk crowding his mouth, however. Which is odd. Silver has yet to see Hawkins without some form of amusement on his face. He looks like an entirely different person without it, even in the night with his face shadowed. He’s looking back at Silver readying himself to speak and Silver is tempted to stand up and leave him to his thoughts.

“I committed patricide in that jungle. For that jungle.” Hawkins says, evenly, calm and points to the blurred trees behind them.

“Jesus Christ.” Silver breathes.

“My father became obsessed within the last few years of his life with Captain Flint’s treasure. He wanted nothing more than to find it and claim it for his own, make a legend out of himself. Now, no one will know his name. He is another ghost for the skeletons.” Hawkins continues with a hint of false regret.

Silver knew he was feigning sadness but was it for his benefit or his own? His question is answered not soon after a small breath of silence.

“I wanted to rage, I wanted to grieve, I wanted to find remorse for the man who raised me but I had none. I felt nothing when I put him to the blade. I even pretended to weep. I sat beneath that canopy and searched for any humanity within me. I used to think there was something exceptionally wrong with me; that something was taken from me. I became well practiced with pretending to give a damn. It’s been that way since I was a boy.”  Hawkins confesses and his words dance around them as if the night is chasing them away. Silver can sense the vicious honesty in them.

“Why? Why kill your father?” Silver hesitantly asks.

Hawkins slides his eyes to the crashing waves as a soft wind caresses his hair. “It’s embarrassing, base and simple. I’ve never seen him care about something as much as that goddamn cache. His legend was in that box, the story the world would tell…” Hawkins hums a small unamused laugh and continues, “The crew had grown ill, they were exhausted with the search but my father was relentless, he went mad, raving at night, talking to things that weren’t there. I pretended I did the crew a favor, that I did it for them. They believed I did and still do. That I delivered them…I’m still waiting for the full force of my actions to strike me down but it never does. I could have played up the sympathy with you, I could have pretended like I do with all the others but you would have seen right through it."

Silver feels cut loose yet again as if he’s fumbling to stay afloat, his wording is too familiar that it left him grasping for purchase within his own mind. He didn’t have the proper words to speak or to turn the conversation to his advantage. What was happening to him?

Hawkins adds, “I think you belong here like I do. If this is some sort of hell, does it not need the demons to occupy it?”

There’s that familiar smirk regaining on Hawkins face, like a blade slowly cutting across his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now their merry band must thwart Smollett! I hope you are enjoying this!
> 
> You can follow me on tumblr @brassfannibal for piratey things and updates. Thank you ;)


	17. A Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silver and Flint find a reprieve and Hawkins tells one truth about himself.

The darkened beach presents itself as a wasteland. Limp dried seaweed clings to the sand as the sea fails to claim it back. Flint stands against the wild tangle of the jungle overlooking the shore. He feels a collapsing coldness overtaking his ribs at the sight of watching Hawkins and Silver conversing in the dark.

“It was your doin’.” Hands spits from behind him.

Flint keeps his eyes on the two silhouettes only visible by the moonlight.

“I’ve enjoyed time away from your incessant questions.” Flint barks.

Hands comes into view beside him with one of his searing glares before they’re both staring at those silhouettes down the beach.

“He’s gettin’ his claws in him.” Hands replies and Flint moves his attention to the shadow of a mountain off into the far distance.

“John knows what he’s doing,” Flint remarks and feels unsure if the statement is a lie.

“I took one look at him since the two of ya came back from that jungle and he ain’t all there. He’s losin’ himself. Seen it before. That man is givin’ him a solution. One you can’t.” Hands replies wisely and Flint hates him for it. He turns to stalk away from this pointless conversation and Hands rests his hand firmly on Flint’s shoulder; holding him in place. Flint is on the verge of snarling an insult when Hands looks him dead in the eye and says, “Fuckin’ speak, take him somewhere before we go to that madhouse of his and speak.”

Flint rips his shoulder out of his grasp and informs, “He knows my plans.”

“You ain’t told him everythin’. Can see it in those eyes of yours. Give him somethin’ to aim his blade at or I’ll finish what I started with you.” Hands warns.

Flint walks from him, not in the mood to hear truths and be stunted by them but for the first time in a long while, Flint lets the thoughts fester instead of burying them with the rest.  

He waits by the tents, sitting in the sand and listening to the tumble of wave against land. It’s a violent birth that gives way to a quiet end; pulling gently away to begin again. He can hear the crutch stabbing the sand from beyond the waves and he stands from where he’s seated. He had thought to be stubborn, he had thought that Silver would come around to his thinking, that this could be solved if he had given him some time as he had before, but this is different. If Silver is disappearing, he needs him to know that all of this isn’t a lie.

Flint stands in front him, blocking his path and Silver presents him with false stoicism.

“Best to rest before the journey.” He says, hollowed and numb not even with a feigned smile.

“We need to speak,” Flint demands.

“There’s nothing to say as of now. I am exhausted.” Silver replies and limps slowly by him, disappearing into an empty small tent.

Flint’s lips twitch in irritation and he’s tempted to let him have his quiet, but he catches Hawkins small mocking wave from down the shore and it forces him to follow after him.

Inside the tent, Silver is lying on a mess of blankets and setting his crutch down beside him. “I’d like to be alone tonight.” He says coldly.

“I need you to come with me,” Flint demands again and he notices the small annoyed smile grace Silver’s lips. He missed even that. He’ll take it.

“I’m not going anywhere, as I said, I need to rest. You think it’s easy hiking as much as we have with one leg?” Silver replies stubbornly.

“Yet you’ll take the time to converse with that lunatic.” Flint blurts and he watches Silver’s features evolve with grace into weary amusement.

“My god, are you jealous?” He asks with surprise and Flint wants nothing more than to feel Silver’s growing smile against his lips.

“I believe you know how I feel about this alliance.” Flint supplies, correcting his embarrassment.

“You of all people should know that I know what I’m doing. It’s important.” Silver states and Flint can tell from his tone that his words hide something beneath them.

“Come with me,” Flint says softly and attempts to calm his anger to a manageable level.

Silver is silent for a moment, working his jaw as if he wishes to stubbornly disagree yet again but he sighs and reaches for his crutch. The warm night air swims in his lungs and clings there when Flint steps outside of the tent. Silver stumbles out after him with a deadly glare. His hair is wild from the humidity and his bright eyes are shadowed orbs.

“Well…lead the way.” Silver grumbles.  

The west side of the beach is serenely hidden from the rest of the slumbering crew. Flint takes them around to a large jagged rock that gives way to a secluded small cave system. The caves themselves burrow deep down into the tide and aren’t accessible to them from here but the hollowed out beginnings of them are large enough to rest inside. Flint slumps down against the rock wall and motions for Silver to join him. The sound of the sea is an echoed ghostly call from inside this hollowed space of theirs. Silver slowly shimmies down the wall, resting his crutch on the other side of him. His hair has already become sandy and Flint studies the grains clinging to his dark unruly curls.

“I’ve nothing to say.” Silver speaks to the dark ahead.

“I do…” Flint says and watches Silver’s coldness begin to fall away. He blinks at him in suspicious anticipation.

“Taking the Erebus was a manipulation. I thought-“ Flint begins and Silver interrupts as he so often does.

“Ah, yes. Not that I needed the admittance but I’m glad you decided that it’s important enough to air.” Silver snaps irritably.

 

Flint continues softly, “I hoped it would help ease you into the same thought pattern, I thought I could possibly speak more openly to you about my plans afterwards. The time we shared on that ship, however, was not part of that manipulation. I hadn’t planned that.”

“You’re lying.” Silver snipes.

Flint shakes his head once, “I’m not. That moment...I’ve not shared myself in that way with someone in a very long time.”  

Silver rests his head against the rock and turns to face him. He looks as though he’s made from sand and sea. As if Flint plucked something divine from the stars to keep him company.  He wishes he could banish all that darkness eating them both away for good.

Silver makes no indication he wishes to speak and so Flint continues, “There will always be a war. I will always seek out one rage after another but I must ask you to compromise on this, John.”

“Haven’t I always compromised? Haven’t I always done what you wanted?” Silver quickly replies but his voice lacks any viciousness. There’s defeat behind his tone again. It’s worse than anger.

“You must not destroy that cache. If you agree to that, then you and I will bring it to Madi…and then step into a future beyond that together.” Flint declares openly.  

Silver closes his eyes and moves to face forward; his head still rests on the rock. Flint watches the silhouette of his adam’s apple bob when he swallows in the gloom.

“You are telling me what I wish to hear yet again.” Silver’s grimace tries and fails to resemble a smile.

“Tell me what I can do to prove to you that I am speaking the truth,” Flint asks, loudly and his voice echoes in the small oval space.

Silver blinks his eyes open, not meeting Flint’s and points across the water with bitter amusement that doesn’t reach his eyes, “Swim out to that nothingness of a sea and touch the stars that kiss the horizon line.”  

Silver mocks him with a seemingly impossible task but Flint stands from his sitting position entirely serious.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Silver’s voice echoes and Flint begins to walk towards the waves.

“You cannot be fucking serious!” Silver’s confused tone is muffled against the roaring sea. Flint removes his boots and they thud into the sand beneath him. He rolls up his pant legs to his knees and proceeds to do the same with his shirt to his elbows. Silver scrambles in the sand and it isn’t long before he hears the stabbing of the crutch.

The dark waves beckon him into their depths and Flint approaches them confidently as he does all things he believes he can best. Before he reaches the water, he hears, “James!”

His heart skips like a stone. It’s been years since Silver has called him that but he doesn’t turn to face him. He already accepted the challenge and dives into the pitch of the sea. He lets the waves carry him forward into the deep. The darkness is warm and welcoming here. The noise is muffled with distance like an old memory. Flint wonders how could Silver hate the sea so vehemently?

He surfaces a moment later and begins to swim towards the cave system, stretched far out like an arm of rock resting atop the water. If anything, this simple act will hopefully reward him with a glimpse of John Silver beneath the ghosts.

He can hear the splashing behind him and a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“I’m not fucking swimming out into the middle of the sea, you realize that!” Silver calls from behind him.

He leads them further onwards and into a flooded small cave cut pristinely against a deep chasm below. Their echoed splashes ring out, disrupting the quiet. Flint stops his strokes and faces a struggling Silver who almost sinks with the brush of a wave lapping against the rock wall.

Flint slowly swims over to him as if approaching a grumpy mirage and Silver presses his back against the wall as if Flint somehow pins him there with his gaze. Their faces are exceptionally close and with Silver’s hair plastered to his head, he’s reminded of when Silver saved him from the sea those years ago. He’s tempted to touch him to remind himself that this is in fact real.

“I cannot bear another lie. Not about this.” Silver pleads and his blue eyes shine beneath the crumbling glow from the moon that creeps inside.  

“I told you we were headed home and I intend to keep that promise. I need you to meet me halfway.” Flint whispers gently.

“Destroying that fucking cache has been…” Silver halts his speech and looks beyond Flint for a moment to an ominous place in his mind. He’s giving himself time to calm down, to seek reason and a warmth blooms inside Flint’s chest at the prospect.

“…has been all I’ve thought about. All that I’ve wanted.” He moves his attention back to him and Flint studies the slight tremble in his shoulders.

Flint leans forward almost breaking that boundary to breathe him in and Silver looks up at him, wide-eyed as their lips almost brush.

“It will be released from our lives. I’ll not grasp onto it but the dead will have purpose this way. Our misery will have purpose.” Flint presses and gently connects his palm to Silver’s waist beneath the water.

“I’m not certain I can let it go free. What of our deal with Hawkins? We take on both his crew and Smollett’s? That is impossible, even for us.” Silver questions.

Flint hates himself for suggesting it but they had very little choice. Hawkins didn’t warm to others easily, “Become friendly with Hawkins. Lure him in and when the time comes it will be easier to end him.”

Silver tilts his head towards the water's edge and says darkly, “I already have him.”

Flint’s voice is caught in his throat watching Silver’s pupils dilate, catching a glimpse of the old Silver beneath. It’s enough to immediately provoke arousal and he knows Silver recognizes this.  

“Then pull him in further, use his madness against him and then we destroy him,” Flint replies low-throated.

The sadness between them has morphed into a familiar dark fragile alliance of nostalgia and dread.  

Flint feels the tentative touch of fingers against his stomach as Silver says, “Tell me again where we’re headed.”

Flint says it quick and resolutely, “Home.”

Silver pushes himself up catching Flint’s mouth with his own and tugging his bottom lip with his teeth to meet him at his level. This is always what he seeks, to be consumed by this inescapable darkness between them. Flint feels those once tentative fingers slip into his trousers through the coarse hair and grasp his arousal with hurried desperation. Flint is altogether a tamed feral against Silver’s touch. He mirrors the action, releasing Silver’s hardened cock with the pop of a few buttons into the palm of his hand. His breath hitches from the effort and Flint slides his tongue messily against Silver’s, chasing each gasp to swallow as his own. He’s like tasting the depth of the sea.

Flint slides their erections together and the soft friction coaxes a shared keening exhale between them before the messy kiss breaks away. When he opens his eyes to observe, Silver is staring back at him with that beautifully dark hooded expression. The expression of a man that could wrap his fingers around his throat or kiss his lips raw.

That wild entity that is the darkness shared between them has always been there, it is what binds them and ultimately shakes them apart. Flint would spend eternity gathering the lost pieces of Silver and fitting them back into place. The ghosts are still there, resting behind Silver like a chain but a new wall has formed to keep them at bay.

Flint pumps them faster, retaining the slickness from the sea water. Silver’s hand slides into Flint’s hair as he closes his fist painfully tight against his skull, pulling at the strands.

Flint wants nothing more than to bury himself inside him, within this pocket of calm encapsulated by the sea. He runs his other hand along the line of Silver’s smooth jawline and rests his thumb beneath the swell of his bottom lip. He feels Silver’s breathy unintelligible pleasure against his fingertips. Flint will never be able to get enough of this.

Silver reaches down between them to rest his hand atop Flint’s connecting them both and quickens the rhythm. They’re entrammeled between one another in the building of pressure.

“I believe you..” Silver whispers desperately soft. It’s all that’s needed to send Flint blindingly over the edge. He presses his mouth to Silver’s temple and comes in between them with a muffled cry. Silver pants loudly in an echo trapped between them. He follows not long after, neck exposed and mouth opened with unabashed awe. As if he’s but a devotee to Flint’s hands for a blessed moment.

Flint’s breath is heady on Silver’s skin, running his lips slowly down his cheek to his mouth once again. The kiss is languidly slow and deep. Silver opens himself up to him again and wraps his leg around Flint’s waist. He holds him there against the rock wall, cupping his face between his palms.

\--

Silver regains a sense of balance when Flint touches him. It’s as if Flint shuts out the noise with his palms and Silver can hear with brilliant clarity once again. They spent the night pruning in the sea water of that cave, mouths connected and thoughts entwined. He’s found a surface to stand on once again even if the feeling is a temporary one.

The morning light greets Silver as he limps up the beach towards the tents, his damp hair hangs loosely down against his shoulders and he lifts his hand to block the burst of sun from the horizon.

“I waited for that sunrise.” Dr. Livesey says oddly despondent as he joins him.

“Not looking forward to our journey inland?” Silver asks and gives him a small smile but Dr. Livesey didn’t have one to give back. He’s watching Silver with an uncharacteristically sad expression.

“I’m tired, Mr. Silver. So very tired.” He replies and moves his eyes to the sea.

Silver ventures, “Is something the matter, doctor?”

Dr. Livesey takes a moment to answer, wipes his brow with a sandy cloth. “You seem like a good man.”

Silver releases a small confused laugh, “I’m not but thank you. Did Hawkins say something to you?”

“No, he’s been rather polite. I just wanted to thank you for being kind. You’ve given me a new perspective on men like you.” Dr. Livesey states and his thoughts seem preoccupied.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Silver asks with the lift of his brow.

Dr. Livesey nods quickly and gives him a smile that vanishes as quickly as it arrives before leaving Silver to head back to his tent. The conversation gathers in the back of his mind like an eerie fog.  

Flint’s voice booms across the beach commanding everyone to make ready to leave and Silver turns on his crutch in the sand.

It begins to drizzle from low lying clouds that trap the humidity against the earth and they are forced to bear the brunt of it. The air comes alive in a snake-like visage, swimming around each of them not affording them with relief. Silver eyes Flint who has kept his distance to perpetuate a false chasm between the two of them for Hawkins benefit. It doesn’t stop Silver’s eyes from seeking him out of their own accord. It’s an old habit, one he picked up from watching him walk the Walrus. He will always seek him out in every room.

In the dead of night, they set up camp in the jungle near to where the old burnt out firepit from their last trek was. Hawkins seeks his own secluded spot to start a fire and Silver finds him, kindling it to life in a spark of flame from his fingers. His coat brushes the leaves as he moves to sit on a nearby fallen log.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Hawkins asks and motions for him to sit with his gloved hands. There’s a razor-sharp smile on his face.

Silver moves deliberately slow and sits on the log but far enough away to give space. “Why the gloves?” Silver asks, motioning towards him.

Hawkins seems pleased with the topic and splays out his fingers before removing one, “Come closer.” He beckons.

Silver knows Hawkins could easily shimmy down the log towards him but he waits there with his smiling teeth, eyes alight with something akin to cheer. He wasn’t about to afford him any kindnesses. Silver plays along and pushes his crutch in the ground to slide himself closer. Hawkins waits there at the end like a fox patiently eyeing a rabbit.

When Silver reaches him, he moves in close and holds his palm, which is small and delicately slender against Silver's own. There's a scarred jagged brand in the shape of an oval in the middle of his palm.

“There’s an identical brand on my other palm,” Hawkins replies but he didn’t seem bothered by the memory, and yet he wore gloves.  

He continues in a quiet tone, “When I was fifteen, I was held captive by a British Naval officer.”

Silver watches Hawkins face contort into something that resembles sadness but the act of it didn’t last long. Soon enough he bursts out laughing loudly beside him. He pats Silver on the thigh once and slips his glove back on as the last bits of his abrupt amusement rumble forth.

“I’m sorry,” Hawkins says biting his lip and then holding Silver’s gaze. Silver isn’t sure why but looking in those eyes is frighteningly bewitching. “That was a terrible lie wasn’t it?” Hawkins adds.

“You weren’t held captive then?” Silver questions feigning interest. Was he feigning?

“Does it really matter what the truth of it is?” Hawkins asks. His sharp smile placates into something hidden in curiosity.

“Well, I do find that some events don’t require a storyteller.” Silver replies truthfully and Hawkins is watching him with something that could be misconstrued as vulnerability. It’d be easy to pretend that he is merely a man, born out of circumstance but there lies a darkness unaccounted for.

Hawkins searches his eyes for a likeness that Silver presents him and says, “I am sure you wished to own your history once, Mr. Silver but thought it better to leave it with those old voiceless skeletons?”

Silver nods in agreement without falsity and slides his eyes to the fire that engulfs the snapped branches in the center. The silence between them lasts for some time but it’s an odd quiet with thoughts wrestling over one another. He feels as though Hawkins has invaded his skull and is searching out all those shadowed corners he keeps hidden.

He’s let him in willingly to trap him but Silver recognizes this dangerous game. He once lived for games such as these and found purpose through risk but now after all this time he can wisely sense the edge of a cliff they both balance on.

“I could be bounded in a nutshell…” Hawkins recites dramatically and stands from the log, pointing to the fire with a shadowed grin. “And count myself a king of infinite space, isn’t that right, Mr. Silver?”

“Were it not that I have bad dreams.” Silver answers and Hawkins hums a laugh, somehow pleased with the exchange. Silver continues, “I never took you for a romantic.”

“Oh god no..” Hawkins laughs loud and careless. “My father was fond of Hamlet, he named one of his vessels Ophelia and I thought it very ironic when that ship capsized years later.”

“Your father didn’t seem like a bad man.” Silver jabs on purpose and doesn’t observe any change in Hawkins demeanor.

“I think that depends on what your definition of _bad_ is. He wanted a legacy and to be remembered. He would have done anything to achieve it.” Hawkins states and that same uneasy smile rests on his porcelain face.

“You took that away from him.” Silver snipes with a small smirk of his own. It’s then he notices the smile from Hawkins' face begin to slip away.

“I will grant a skeleton a voice for this, Mr. Silver,” Hawkins replies darkly, his expression bordering on something vicious as if Silver unwillingly provoked a beast. “Yes, I did take that away but he’s always underestimated me and I’ve won. I’ve finally won. He thought I could cram myself into the pit of society, that I could be someone he could not. He wished for me to find a wealthy suitor, wanted to give me expensive baubles, give me finely stitched dresses like you would a _pretty_ little doll. I set fire to it, all of it. It was not me that curled and fell to ash. That was an image of something that would be thrust upon me against my will.”

Silver sat in stilled silence, trapped by those eyes, that voice.

He continues as he sets his gloved hand against the hilt of his sword, “Peter Hawkins wanted to give the false visage of a daughter to the sheep but what he did not know was that I was already a wolf. I was always a wolf from the first moment I opened my eyes to sunlight. Can you not see it now, Mr. Silver? That I am a deliverer of false kings?”

Silver could see it, basking in the glow of the drifting embers that collected around Hawkins form like messengers. He looked deadly in the half shadow, a formidable future Silver truly did not wish to face.

“My father was a false king. Those men out there…” Hawkins points into the darkness. “Smollett’s men are false kings. They underestimate what they cannot see. Such as fools of men usually do. Did you underestimate me, John?”

Silver blanches at the use of his first name but doesn’t let the flinch show. He has a small smile that painfully masks against the words clawing at his throat. Perhaps, Hawkins was right, that people did underestimate him, for Silver could feel the influence claim a nest in his skull.

Silver lets the question remain unanswered and directs his attention to the flames, where something primal waits to be acknowledged.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think of the chapter and twist. I hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> You can follow me on tumblr @brassfannibal for piratey things and updates! Thank you :)


	18. The Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silver finds out what's been bothering Dr. Livesey and Hawkins and Flint bond through violence.

The echoed call of a far off creature catches Flint’s attention as he stands in the darkness beneath the claustrophobic canopy. The sweat collects uncomfortably against his neck, wetting the tips of his hair. He’s grown used to this jungle and its smothering nature. It’s a place he abandoned himself once, it’s a place he’ll gain it back again. He wonders idly how different things would have been if Silver fired that pistol into his heart. What would one half become without the other? It’s easy to ponder now in the damp dark.

Hawkins is a new puzzle, intriguing even in Flint’s eyes. He overheard the conversation that he had with Silver by the fire, which makes him exceptionally wary of Silver’s growing interest. That man is utterly dangerous, capable and alluring. All the things that trapped him to Silver in the first place. That abyss those two share.

The quiet voice behind him startles him out of his dread, “You wanted to meet before morning.”

Flint turns around to face him and Silver is standing taller, his hair running wildly down his shoulders. His eyes alight as if they still reflected the campfire within them. He looks as though he belongs here as if he is meant to tame men like Hawkins into something beyond their feral nature.

“I didn’t think it was possible for you to sneak up on me,” Flint says warmly and studies his stance.

Silver has a small smile to give him and it lessens the burden in his heart.

“Perhaps you should open your mind to new possibilities.” Silver coyly replies and Flint imagines how easily the jungle could disappear if they kept this up.  

Flint shakes his head and his amusement begins to fade, “We’ve underestimated him.”

“Yes, we have.” Silver agrees and leans heavily on his crutch. His shoulders sink once more.

Flint clears his throat and steps closer, “Our plan…”

Silver moves his eyes away from him towards the jungle as if searching for a lie to lessen his worry. It’s obvious to Flint, he needn’t even take the time to hold his gaze to realize that change he dreaded and anticipated all at once.

Flint tenses, noticing the hesitation, “The cache—”

“Your precious fucking cache will be fine.” Silver snaps and there’s a sudden silence between them. The old tension wakes from its quick slumber and the squawking of an exotic bird echoes noisily in the brush.

Silver continues, “About Hawkins… it will not be easy but this plan will be put forth. I’ll do what’s necessary.”

Flint feels any warmth that resides within him leave at that tone, “You don’t seem sure of yourself.”

“You are asking me to get close to him and I am attempting it. The consequence is just that but it will not dissuade me from what needs to be done.” Silver adds as if to reassure with his hollow wording and Flint notices how he’s still unable to hold his attention.

“Don’t lie to me, John.” Flint persists. He knows he doesn’t have the right to be angry about this, he agreed to this nonsense.

“You let me do my part and you do yours. That’s the goddamn deal, is it not?” Silver whispers harshly.

Flint approaches him and stops when they are standing face to face. Silver snaps his eyes up to his and he sees the uncertainty hidden behind the natural bravado.

“It is the deal…yes,” Flint whispers against the receding anger. He wants nothing more than to touch him and pull the warmth back.

A snapping twig catches their attention and they both turn towards the darkness to see a murky figure looming beyond.

“Who’s there?” Flint calls.

The figure turns as if startled, “It’s only me, Captain sir!” Dr. Livesey calls back.

Flint lowers his voice for Silver, “Go and see if he heard us.”

Silver gives him a glare before complying and turns to face Dr. Livesey’s shadow. He limps slowly towards him as if he could somehow spook his figure away.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Dr. Livesey calls nervously.

Flint watches Silver approach the twitchy doctor with his eyes narrowed. Even with the doctor knowing of Silver’s history he is more comfortable in his company than Flint’s but that is usually the way of things. He didn’t fault the bumbling irritating man for it.

He waits for their hushed conversation to end with a smile from Silver and a small pat to Dr. Livesey’s shoulder. He observes Livesey’s shadow disappear from sight back into the darkened brambles.

When Silver approaches him again, there’s a new worry creasing his brow.

“What is it?” Flint asks and Silver shakes his head as if to banish it, “Something is troubling him.”

“Could Hawkins have struck fear in him?” Flint questions and Silver pivots his crutch towards the darkness but says nothing in return.

\--

Hawkins’ camp is large enough to accommodate them. He knows it’s set some of the men on edge to reside in the island’s palm but one could get used to anything. The cages are empty now. He suspects the few that were prisoners were dealt with before their arrival. New tents are being pitched and only two fights have broken out. Silver would consider this a calm start to their odd alliance. He couldn’t shake the growing unease, however. Dr. Livesey has something to tell him that is weighing on him considerably, but Silver is patient enough. He knew it wouldn’t be long until he confesses.

He spots the lithe figure that is Hawkins who waves away Pew irritatingly. He takes a moment to catalog his movements without him knowing he’s being watched. The way he holds himself is unique. His confidence is natural and not something false. Silver felt his own confidence was more about survival than anything else but perhaps Hawkins is the same.

He catches Silver’s eye and tilts his chin at him. He can see that sharp-edged grin from here and Silver approaches him, limping through the mud.

“Do you like what you see, Mr. Silver?” Hawkins asks bluntly. There’s a promise waiting behind his words that he avoids exploring any further.

Silver ignores the tease and questions, “Did you spook Dr. Livesey?”

Hawkins eyes him with a shake of his head, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“That’s a lie.” Silver accuses and the smile he wears is strained.

Hawkins cocks his head at him, with that ever-present grin blooming on his lips. “I’ve hardly spoken to the man. Why the accusation?”

“He’s acting strangely, something is weighing on him and the only change in this equation is you.”

“Perhaps if you are worried about the loyalty of your men, you should speak to the man in question. If it were me, I’d have it out of him by the next day.” Hawkins states softly and Silver presses his lips together before formulating words.

“There will be no torturing of our men, most especially Dr. Livesey. You may glean pleasure from it but I do not.” Silver’s tone is cracking apart the veneer.

Hawkins hums a quick understanding, “I wish I could feel pleasure from it. It’s more of a spark of something, like two rocks clacking together. It is there but gone just as fast. I must commend you though, Mr. Silver. It’s more difficult to pretend to hold a goodness.”

Silver glances out beyond the men towards the tangled jungle they’ve all wrapped themselves in willingly. He says nothing and lets the words take their time trying to fit inside his skull.

Hawkins continues, “There is no freedom in pretending to be good, however. I’ve stood in rooms with fancy men expecting kindness, expecting a bent knee. None of it was earned but they expected it. It is not expected of you here. Guilt is conditioned.”

“Guilt is natural.” Silver answers and he hears the echoing of an angry crowd in Nassau. He pictures Eleanor of years ago standing in the sunlight of her office window in place of Hawkins.

“I sense an optimist hidden somewhere inside. Which is intriguing.” Hawkins observes and his eyes search Silver’s face. The feeling he gets when he does this is quite different from when Flint does the same. With Hawkins, it’s as if he borrows something from him and once returned, a part of himself remains crooked.

Silver lets a smirk form on his face and he steers the conversation back to its original place, “I’ll ask you one more time. What did you say to Dr. Livesey?”

“He misses having his tea. I told him I had some and that he is more than welcome to it. He’s afraid of me, I could tell but not much else was discussed. If I wanted to spy on you I wouldn’t use Dr. Livesey, if I wanted to betray you then what the fuck is the bloody point to all of this then? If you truly suspect something foul is going on then bring him to my tent.” Hawkins states coolly and runs a gloved hand through his hair that falls against his forehead.

“I told you before, there will be no torturing.” Silver states.

“Yes, I heard you the first time. This would be to talk and you can be there to assess the situation.” Hawkins corrects.

“No. I will not be bringing him to your tent.” Silver stubbornly disagrees.

Hawkins shrugs nonchalantly, “then perhaps his naturalized guilt will force him to confess his troubles to you in due time.”

Silver shakes his head at the mocking words and begins to hobble away through the mud.

“I must ask you...” Hawkins calls behind him and Silver stops but he doesn’t turn around. “to join me for dinner.”

Silver says nothing, nor does he grant him with the turn of his head. He limps onwards through the crowded camp.

He’s wound tight, ready to snap into some new shape against his will. He ignores Flint’s familiar voice speaking with one of the crew and heads in the opposite direction, out of the camp. Outside, Hands is looking out to the teeth of the jungle as if it holds some quiet purpose.

“This is but a madman’s dwelling.” Hands says gruffly and Silver sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Hands continues, “I think he knows.”

Silver looks out to the trees which should be filled with light from mid-day but hold nothing but the thick mist.

“Knows what?” Silver hesitantly takes the bait and waits for a cryptic lecture.

“Knows you’re his end.” Hands replies and Silver looks over at him, meeting those hard eyes.

“Hawkins?”

At this point, Silver didn’t know which of the two men he was speaking on and Hands nods.

There’s a swirling feeling above him like the wind took something and he’s yet to figure out what. He feels like he could spend the rest of eternity with the thought nagging him.

“You do realize I came out here to get some fucking air?” Silver replies irritably.

“There ain’t no air to breathe here. It’s a mirage.” Hands supplies purposefully difficult.

Silver huffs, “Jesus Christ. Enough.”

“Don’t be standin’ out here for the jungle to gape at for too long.” Hands replies before taking his leave.

He listens to his boots disappear into the background. It’s quiet for a moment, except for the noise produced by the camp but he takes it as a simple reprieve. He feels like a fossil being picked over by Flint, Hawkins and Hands. They all see him in different lights as if he’s three different men. It’s easier some days to become those men but today he just wants to be one. Not the king of pirates nor the cowardly cook but the quartermaster. The man in between.

He hears boots approaching him but it isn’t Flint’s gait, he’d recognize that anywhere.  

“Good afternoon, Mr. Silver.” Dr. Livesey quietly greets and he comes into view beside him. The smile from days of old isn’t there. It hasn’t been there for some time now.

“Afternoon, everything all right?” Silver asks.

“Going for a walk, it’s rather crowded in that camp.” Dr. Livesey replies nervously and begins to head down the path unafraid of what lies in wait.

“Do you want company?” Silver asks. It isn’t as if he wanted the company himself but perhaps the doctor would open up about what troubles him.

Dr. Livesey turns to him as if he’s considering declining and a shaky smile graces his lips, “If you like, Mr. Silver.”

He waits for Silver to reach him politely and they begin the slow stroll through the humidity.

“There’s something that troubles you, doctor.” Silver says.

“I’m homesick, Mr. Silver. Truthfully, I cannot wait until we get off this island.” Dr. Livesey replies and Silver observes the downturn of his head.

It’s true that Dr. Livesey wishes for home but that isn’t the whole truth of it. There lies something darker still that Silver senses is covered in shadow.

“Once we take care of Smollett this will be over.” He encourages.

Dr. Livesey shakes his head, “I do not wish to kill anyone, Mr. Silver. That is not why I’m here.”

“You won’t have to, you’ll stay back at camp until the deed is done.” He says and Dr. Livesey sighs as Silver struggles against the sticky mud with his crutch.  

He adds, “This is all temporary.”

Dr. Livesey politely lifts a fern for Silver to step under and says, “Forgive me but this doesn’t feel temporary. I feel as if this island has a hold of us and it will refuse to let us go.”

He stops in his tracks and Silver halts his crutch. The mist between them is aggravating his senses as if a compass is spinning in his mind.

“You’ve given such a place too much credit. It is only mud and rock like all the others.” Silver reassures. He isn’t exactly sure of that himself as of late but the last thing Dr. Livesey needs is his doubts swirling around them both like specters.

A branch cracks in the wilderness drawing Silver’s attention and he rests his hand on the hilt of his dagger. “We should head back.” Silver advises and glances at Dr. Livesey who appears as though he could shake apart from nerves. Something is very wrong here. He feels it immediately, like an old bone-deep chill. He unsheathes his dagger and eyes the doctor.

“Who’s out there?” He asks him and Dr. Livesey shakes his head quickly, “I don’t know, sir.”

Silver’s eyes darken, “Don’t you dare fucking lie to me, Livesey.”

Dr. Livesey begins mumbling in terror, tear tracks now line his dirty face. Silver hadn’t been thinking straight, too caught up in his own demons to realize how much of a trap this is. Dr. Livesey had laid a trap.

“I’m sorry…” He blubbers.

“What the fuck did you do?” Silver moves towards him and Dr. Livesey backs away with fright. Silver knows he could try and hobble his way back to camp but it wouldn’t be of much use.

“I’m sorry.” Dr. Livesey pitifully sobs as Silver nears him while brandishing his dagger.

He sees them then, appear out of the brush like ghosts. Four men, each with their own swords, and a hard look in their eyes. They had been battered by the island like them. These are no doubt Smollett’s men.

“You made a deal with Smollett. How in the _fuck_ did you manage that?” Silver’s rage heightens with each passing moment but Dr. Livesey is backing further away as the men close in on Silver’s position.

The nearest man attempts to grab him and Silver swings quick slicing open the man’s arm and tripping him with his crutch. He brings down his blade into the man’s chest before the others have a hold of him.

They crowd around him to pull a black sack forcefully over his head.

“Signal the others and let’s be rid of the rest.” A gravelly voice says from behind him.

_Rid of the rest._

His heart is a hammer against the wall of his ribcage.

“You fucking coward!” He yells for Dr. Livesey and swings blindly hitting flesh while toppling himself down into the mud before the heavy hilt of a sword is brought down on his head.

\--

Flint is exceptionally exhausted dealing with petty squabbles over what crewmen gets the better tent. He’s tempted to tell them that none of them get any and will sleep in the mud as pigs do. Luckily though, most of them go quiet when he approaches and will head where he points.

Hawkins appears out of nowhere like a phantom and greets Flint with a squinty smile. “Do you miss your Walrus crew? They’re all dead, save a few, are they not?”

Flint is tempted to wrap his hands around his throat but he suspects he’d get enjoyment out of that somehow. He’s not in the mood to deal with passive aggressive smiley fools.

Flint gives him a threatening grin; all teeth. “Promise men wealth, promise men titles, promise men a name and they will follow. One dies and two more take his place.” Flint says coldly.

Hawkins laughs quietly, “That is a way of ridding yourself of the guilt. I’d view it the same if I had any guilt to ponder.”

There has never been a day that Flint hasn’t thought of the Walrus but he wasn’t about to tell this madman that. The only person he will ever share his ghosts with is Silver and that is because they reflect the same torment.

He spots Ben Gunn frantically running towards them in the mud. He slides to a stop and with a heavy breath says, “There are men. In the woods. They are headed this way.”

“How many men?” Flint questions.

Ben doesn’t get to answer, there’s a shout and not soon after, the clinking of swords. Hawkins and Flint follow Ben quickly to the front of the camp. They blanch at the sight of the crowd of assailants ripping through their crew.

“Fuck that bastard Smollett. Someone warned him, told him where we were.” Hawkins supplies before Flint unsheathes his sword.

One of the attackers roars through the crowd aiming for Flint uncoordinated but Hawkins fires his pistol, shooting him dead with dangerous precision.

“You’re welcome.” Hawkins irritatingly sing songs. 

“Where is John?!” Flint yells to Ben above the cutting of flesh.

“I don’t know, Captain! I didn’t see him!” Ben replies and swings his blade at the coming wave.

There’s a concentrated thrumming in his veins, a panicked jumble of thoughts juxtaposed like vile images. Flint slices a man’s throat that’s blocking his view of the second entrance, but Silver isn’t anywhere. The tide within fills him up with a boiling rage that he welcomes and sets loose on the foray.

“Leave one alive!” Flint calls and he watches Hawkins eviscerate a man lying in the mud beneath him. The sight is a violent surprise. It wasn’t as if he didn’t think Hawkins could fight but watching him tear through men breeds a new kind of terror within him.

He spots Hands come up out of the jungle with a gash across his cheek and a familiar ferocity to his deadly swings. He sends two to the earth with his entrance and eyes Flint as if he has something to relay but the small battle still rages.  

The attackers wouldn’t last long against them and Flint thinks even with the four of them they could send them all back to the mud. Flint is quick with his kills but not without leaving the evidence across his own skin. He’s used to this, the screams are an echoing reminder as if they are pulled back from his past; like a hood lifting from his head.

He observes Hawkins shoot a man in the shoulder to wound him and like a beast, once the man falls to the ground, Hawkins saws into his neck without a moments hesitation. After making quick work of him, he glances over at Flint as if he can sense the burning scrutiny and Hawkins has a smile tainted in blood for him.  

Hands cleans up the stragglers that attempt to retreat and Flint guts the second to last man remaining within the camp. There’s a quiet choked sound to those that are left. The wounded flailing in the mud in erratic patterns. Hawkins stands over the last one left alive in this mess and watches him with bored disinterest as he attempts to crawl away.

The attack was a failure but Flint suspects that was the point, it wasn’t the reason they came in the first place.

Hands finally approaches him, cleaning his dagger on his thigh.

“Followed Livesey and John Silver out in that damned wilderness. They have him. They took him.” Hands admits and Flint shuts his eyes against it, his back a rigid line.

“You let them take him?!” Hawkins shouts at Hands and he can hear the growl between them.

Flint steps back observing the struggling man beneath them and Hawkins presses his boot on the man’s injured leg which incites a cry.

“They took him for the cache.” Flint surmises and Hawkins nods in understanding before replying, “That little weasel of a doctor betrayed us, Flint.”

“How did he get a message to Smollett? And why did Smollett trust his word? It was Mr. Arrow that was the middleman. I didn’t think they knew each other.” Flint ponders aloud.

“The man had plenty of time on the beach you left him on. Mr. Arrow knew Smollett. Is it that hard to imagine Dr. Livesey keeping a blatant connection secret? Perhaps he had planned it with Smollett originally. It really doesn’t fucking matter, does it? What matters is getting John Silver back.” Hawkins says it softly as if he meant it and Flint narrows his eyes at him expecting a punchline but there isn’t one.

“Please! I beg of ya, I don’t know nothin’!” The man below them cries and Flint had almost forgotten about him.

“Well that is the problem, isn’t it?” Hawkins replies bluntly to the frightened face.

They didn’t need the survivor any longer. They know where the camp is and that Silver would be kept alive until he showed them to the cache, which Silver has no knowledge of.

Flint watches Hawkins slowly reload his pistol deliberately casual in front of the whimpering man and he’s reminded of the Doldrums. The terror the crew had in each of their faces for him. Except now he’s in Silver’s place, watching the scene from the sidelines unwilling to interfere for it's purposeless.

Hawkins points the pistol forward coldly and the man releases a pained sob before he fires without hesitation. The smoke from the pistol evaporates between them, carried away into an invisible ether. Flint eyes the man, now dead, staring up forever sightless into the smothered daylight.

“We’re going to destroy Smollett’s camp. We will light a fire in every corner.” Hawkins states and turns his dark glare to Flint.

Flint nods because he has birthed many horrors from fire; they both have but he cannot help but feel as though he just struck a deal with Skeleton Island itself, the island which wears this man’s face.  

The answering giddy smile that Hawkins gives him is all the evidence Flint needs to recognize that this deal houses invisible spiders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to rescue John Silver ;) I hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> If you like, you can follow me on tumblr @brassfannibal for piratey things and updates! Thank you! :)


	19. Symmetry, Causality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Silver accepts the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a warning Smollett is an asshole that misgenders Hawkins.

There are names lost to him now called out into the dark, behind the lids of his eyes. He can reach forward into the pit and never see his arm outstretched in front of him as if it’s another limb gone. There are parts of himself that he loses every day. He thinks they are lost like breadcrumbs but that isn’t true at all. Those pieces of himself are lost in this dark, he can still feel them, rattling around like broken glass in a lantern.

The rustling clink of chains wakes him. Panicked grunts and heavy breathing pull him from the dark. He slowly blinks his eyes open. The first thing he notices is the ache in his arms which are chained above his head. He pulls uselessly at the restraints and eyes the old gloomy room. The structure of it is ancient, the old stone that surrounds him isn’t something he’s seen before. Is this a ruin of some kind?

There is a small slit for what passes as a window in the stone that allows a jagged line of light inside, brightening the dust. Diagonal from him, against the other wall, is Dr. Livesey. He’s pulling at the chains in a concentrated panic.

“Betrayal not working for you?” Silver comments and cringes from his throbbing head where the hilt of a sword met it with ferocity.

“Mr. Silver..” Dr. Livesey begins to mumble.

“Please save your apologies for the dirt because that is where you are headed.” Silver snaps cruelly, his eyes are hooded within the shadow beyond the light. Dr. Livesey’s mouth hangs open like a fish, caught on a word. “Please….I.”

Silver shakes his head with a huff of a laugh and rips at his chains for good measure.

Dr. Livesey continues, “Captain Hawkins said you would not be agreeable at first but that I must convince you but I am at a loss…I don’t know how to-”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Silver interrupts, sitting up stiffly against the unforgiving stone wall.

Dr. Livesey looks pained from digging around in his skull for an answer to please him, “Captain Hawkins said that you could find Smollett’s weakness if you were brought to his camp…please believe me that I didn’t do this for Smollett. Hawkins….that man is terrifying…I..I tried to reason with him you must understand. I didn’t wish to-“

Silver shuts his eyes tightly and banishes the rest of Dr. Livesey’s words, “This was Hawkins idea, to get us captured? Because he believes I can find a weakness in Smollett’s camp? That is a fucking lie.”

Dr. Livesey rambles, “Oh no, please, Mr. Silver. I am not lying..”

“I understand that you are a fucking fool, Dr. Livesey but what I mean is, Hawkins was lying to you. That is not why I’m here.” Silver assures with a sharp irritated glare, one he’s picked up from Flint.

Hawkins hadn’t come up with this reckless plan with the hope that Silver could somehow persuade Smollett. This was something else. This was Hawkins opening a door, to where? He didn’t know but he had no choice but to step through it.

Oddly enough, the anger that was boiling below the surface has dissipated. Silver should be livid, this is a dangerous game. They could torture him, even kill him if they dared with the cache hanging in the balance but Hawkins took a risk with this. Silver can’t help but think this is another glimpse beneath the madman and he shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t need to know but he did. He needed to know.

Dr. Livesey attempts conversation again as if he’s poking a lion, “You are exceptional at persuasion, Mr. Silver, you…had me in your palm. Perhaps, Smollett can be manipulated as well. That is what Captain Hawkins was counting on.”

A large stone door crumbles open at the opposite side of the room. The act of it swirled the dust around them in an aggravating assault to the senses. A man steps through the dank passageway and into the only line of light that divides.

He’s an older gentleman with graying thick hair, neatly combed and a small gray beard sits on his face to match. Silver imagines that given enough time Flint’s beard would resemble something just like it. The man is lean, hard-eyed and has an air of superiority about the way he carries himself. His boots even appear polished which is odd, given the ragged state of his men that he encountered in the jungle.  

“Long John Silver.” He announces slowly. Silver always found it amusing when people took their time punctuating his title as if it’s something to be mocked rather than feared.

“You must be Smollett.” Silver replies and gives him a warm smile for a greeting. Smollett doesn’t smile back, nor does he glare. He just observes him like a crow perched high above the rubbish.

“Captain Alexander Smollett and you’ll do kindly to address me as such.” Smollett reprimands and Silver tilts his chin curiously.

“Well I imagine you were called Captain once but since I took your ship there is nothing for you to be Captain over I’m afraid.” Silver boasts and Smollett slowly steps out of the light and into the shadows with him.

“You have a low born foreign look about you. I expected you to rival Edward Teach in size but I see I was quite wrong in my assumptions. You were a street rat not long ago I assume?” He questions and Silver picks up on the slight waver in his accent.

“I’m no one.” Silver replies and Smollett slowly shakes his head. This man has an ego and is surrounded by overstuffed pride that someone once filled his head with.

“From Dr. Livesey’s scribbled letter, I presume that you’ve met Joanna? I cannot believe that she even pulled _you_ into her madness.” Smollett replies.

It’s then that things begin to snap into place like these ancient stone walls, like tiny cogwheels all lined in a row. Hawkins wanted Silver to meet Smollett and he recognizes this as a grand manipulation of a sort. It’s a way for Hawkins to allow Silver a look into his past and at the snakes that resided within it. He feels a twinge of irritation at the disrespectful flippant way that Smollett addresses Hawkins. Hawkins who is this island’s terror made real. He was right, he was underestimated.

“You knew Jim, then?” Silver corrects because at least he can afford him some respect.

“Jim…” Smollett scoffs and continues, “I knew her father, we grew up together until he found the path of sin that led him to piracy and took his daughter with it.”

“I should have suspected. You look the part of a God-fearing man.” Silver observes and Smollett held no interest in his musings.

 “You look the part of a scoundrel, Mr. Silver. Is that even your true name?” Smollett inquires, and Silver has nothing to give him but an unwavering smile. He continues while eyeing Silver’s missing leg, “No matter. You’re here because you possess the location of your dead captain’s treasure.”

_Dead._ It would seem that not everything was divulged. Smollett had no idea of the terror that is coming for him and Silver found immense satisfaction in that knowledge.

“I do know where it resides.” Silver lies and Smollett nods without hesitation. He motions for his men to enter the small room and proceed to unlock his chains.

“Where…are you taking him?” Dr. Livesey nervously interrupts. Smollett didn’t reward him with any answer. Silver eyes Dr. Livesey as they grab him, lifting him from the ground and force him from the room.

He attempts to lean away from one of the brutes and almost loses his balance in the process, “Where is my crutch?” Silver requests.

“You must have misplaced it.” Smollett smugly replies as he guides them down a long crumbling corridor. Silver grits his teeth but lets the comment pass without a retort.

There are chipped and broken statues, melded into the wall that once stood tall and bright. An old holder for a torch now covered in cobwebs rests beside it. Smollett had discovered the ruins of the first inhabitants of the island. Silver wonders idly who they were, what they worshipped and what inner workings would prompt them to build something as grand as this.

He’s taken into a separate room with a wooden table and two matching chairs. There’s a lit candle in the center and Smollett motions for him to sit. The brutes shove him into the chair and place a piece of brittle parchment, a case of ink and quill in front of him.

“I want you to draw and write in detail where the cache is located,” Smollett says and clasps his hands behind his back.

“And if I refuse?” Silver tests and he observes the clench of Smollett’s jaw.

“It must be hard with one leg, but I imagine it would be impossible without either.” Smollett threatens and it rings hollow. Silver keeps his vicious grin intact without faltering.

“Considering I’m the only person that knows where the cache is on this large expanse of land in the middle of the sea, I’d suggest holding off the hacking of limbs but that’s just my opinion of course.” Silver replies with the lift of his hands.

“Joanna sent you here to me, didn’t she? As some sort of distraction maybe? I’d like to see her feeble attempt to banish me.” Smollett adds with his own naive amusement.

“You’ve no fucking idea who Hawkins really is. It will not end well for you.” Silver warns darkly.

“Is her father backing this ridiculousness?” Smollett asks, dismissing the warning.

“He’s dead.” Silver promptly answers and watches with immense satisfaction as Smollett’s face falls.

Silver continues, “I guess you didn’t know? Jim killed him, set fire to his ship and those that were left that wished to mutiny. It now sits at the bottom of the sea. His men are terrified of him, they admire him and will follow him to their deaths. You’ve no fucking idea.”

The reverence isn’t feigned, Silver realizes this with a worrying conclusion but he didn’t let the surprise rattle his features. Smollett looks oddly stiff as if he’s become a statue. The fear is evident and ripened by the admittance.

“You’re all mad,” Smollett says quietly, swallowing thickly and catching Silver’s eyes with his once more.

There’s plenty more to this story between Hawkins and Smollett but Silver doubts Smollett will confess the details to him.

“Was it you who branded him?” Silver asks thinking of the scars that mar Hawkins’ palms.

Smollett’s fear evolves into newfound trepidation and he abruptly leaves the room, allowing the silence to settle. He wasn’t very good at hiding his cards, not like Silver.

This was why. This was why Hawkins recklessly sent him here. He needed Silver to see Smollett before they destroyed him. There’s a sickening comfort in knowing what’s to come. He thinks on that finality with a fearless sort of hope that somehow crawled out from the depths of him. He understands the blatant manipulation by Hawkins pulling the strings; he can mold it but it doesn’t change. He feels ferreted out. It’s the same way that Flint makes him feel but with a dangerous calm. The acceptance is easier now.

Silver leans forward and grips the quill to dip it into the ink. He scratches it against the parchment smoothly with each word, his writing has always been oddly tidy. He takes his time, tracing the ink on the page, filling it with his fancy scrawl. There’s a story to tell, one that will not leave this ruin and it makes it easier to release a few truths because he knows these men will not live long enough to tell it.

His guard that still inhabited the room rips the parchment from the table as he finishes the last word on the page, causing the ink to smear on the edge from the force of it. Silver sets down the quill neatly and leans back in his uncomfortable chair. The guard looks confused while reading the page but that didn’t stop him from leaving the room to take it to Smollett as he was ordered to do.

Silver takes the time to study the ancient cracks in the stones as he listens to the far away crumbling as if he’s burrowed in a cave. He allows himself to think on Flint then. Something he’s been entirely avoiding but the silence of this tomb-like room gives him no respite from those thoughts.

He still wishes to destroy the cache, the feeling has never abated but he knows Flint’s won.

It’s preposterous to feel cut loose whenever he is away from him. He recognizes the cold jagged claw of it as he did when they had been separated for a time. He allows himself a moment of clarity and thinks of a fishing hut by the sea.

The thought pattern doesn’t falter when Smollett enters the room appearing furiously displeased. He tosses the pieces of parchment at him but Silver is only thinking about sitting in the sand in the early morning. He thinks on fishing trips in an old rowboat.

“I understand you enjoy stories, Mr. Silver. I had heard you were quite the storyteller but I’m not a patient man.” Smollett snaps and motions for his men to grab him.

He thinks on lying in the rowboat beneath the sun with Flint, how uncomfortable the rotting wood would be beneath them but the rocking would be familiar. They’d be back in the cradle of the deep again.

They force Silver out into the hallway, gripping his arms harshly. One of the men asks, “Who’s Solomon Little?”

“You’re all fools.” Smollett surmises and stands at the mouth of a different room. A shadowed smile grows on Silver’s lips.

It’s true. Silver wrote a simple story about Solomon Little on the parchment. A young man who watched the fish crowd around the docks. The fish that gleamed silver in the sunlight.  He wrote about how Solomon hadn’t spoken a single word since he was a child but the sight of those fish communicating and acknowledging the other's existence without speech had fascinated him. They understood each other. They understood fear most of all. They’d scatter when Solomon would stick his feet in the cold water and there’d be nothing there but a reflection.

Smollett’s men toss him into another dusty room impolitely and he falls to the floor with a thud.

“This is your last chance, Mr. Silver,” Smollett announces.

Silver presses his hand into the cold stone and forces himself to sit up against the wall. His shoulder aches from the impact of the floor and he eyes Smollett with the same dark grin. It hadn’t slipped from Silver’s face.

The men grab him again at the nod of Smollett’s head and they carry him towards a large stone pedestal in the center of the room.  Silver couldn’t help but think of that day in the bay of Charles Town. The names of those men he wouldn’t give resting on the tip of his tongue. He wants to shout their names now, not to give those men up, but to remember them. To bring symmetry to this, to pull him full circle.

They grab hold of his arms as Smollett unsheathes his sword. Silver can’t help but think of Flint terrorizing the bay of Charles Town; lighting up the horizon with flames. He had been screaming then, incoherent to the destruction. Was this where he was headed now?

“Where is the cache, Mr. Silver?” Smollett asks, his nerves are thin and frayed. Silver can spot the sheen of sweat collecting on his insipid face. Silver hasn’t felt so calm in quite a long time. It grates on Smollett.

He wonders idly what Hawkins meant to this man. This man who gets pleasure from grudges with misplaced rage. There’s an archaic hatred beneath him that Silver can read. There are missing pieces but he thinks some of them will never fully snap back into place. He thinks about Hawkins trapped in the confines of society and he can’t quite picture it. He’s but a blurry figure.

Silver could lie but he realizes that Smollett had grown used to this island. His obsession with it is not much different than Hawkins’ father. He has the same haunted madness like Billy, people who couldn’t handle when the darkness echoed back. Not like Hawkins, not like Flint. They became the island, carrying it with them like a flickering candle resting in their ribcage.

“Solomon Little used to write down the words crowding in his head on foggy windows. The winter was best for it-“ Silver says with a wistful smile as the men held down his arms to the stone.

The rage in Smollett’s eyes is a gift Silver had given him. There is purpose there now, something to hate. His sword lifts in his hands uncoordinated. “You’ve sealed your fate, Mr. Silver” Smollett prophesizes.  He was going to take his other leg from him, and most likely his life but Silver still couldn’t help but maintain his composure. He trusted Flint in this moment more than he had ever allowed himself to trust anyone. The thread between them is growing taut, he could sense the inevitable.

“Solomon wrote about a world behind a world, beneath the sea, beyond reflection.” Silver continues, his eyes light up, lost in a dream.

He thinks in pairs. A pair of swords sticking out of the sand, a pair of crows perched high above a blackened chimney, a pair of gloves hiding delicate hands, a pair of green eyes in the dark.

A pair of beached pirates swimming forever towards a Spanish warship.

Flint is the epicenter of his divide, the causality of his purchase.

Smollett brings down the sword with a yell but it’s the stone he hits, not Silver’s leg. It was a bluff. Smollett is as trapped as they are to this task. He needed to know more than anything where the cache was. _Always_ the cache.

He hears the clank of the sword falling to the ground and then blinks once before he’s punched bluntly across the jaw by one of the men. He turns his head from the force of it and can already taste the copper tang of blood on his tongue. He faces Smollett again, squinting and smiles with it coating his teeth.

“Bring me the Livesey coward,” Smollett says quietly seething.

Silver looks up towards the large vaulted stone ceiling that creates a triangle above him. He thinks perhaps this was once a sacrificial chamber of some kind. He’s lying where others had years ago, each with their own final panic.

“I’ll take from Livesey what I can’t take from you,” Smollett adds.

He could voice how Smollett’s terror is coming again like a mad prophet, but he didn’t. He lets things settle. He could almost hear distant footsteps, the snapping of twigs, a group of men claiming the jungle outside.

He watches them bring the terrified doctor into the room who spots Silver in wide-eyed surprise. They force him to kneel. “I will cut off his hand.” Smollett threatens and Dr. Livesey shakes his head furiously, whimpering.

Silver starts to laugh, it begins as a rumble. He moves his eyes back to that triangle of darkness above him and it grows louder. John Silver isn’t a ghost. He miscalculated this place and how it traps souls. He’s a piece of this island too, just like the others. He holds it in his chest like a burning ember.

“You think this is a bluff, cretin!” Smollett screams and his voice echoes; it carries up and away.

“There’s a shore...” Silver says softly and watches as the darkness above takes false shapes.

“What shore is this?” Smollett questions, his anger a backdrop now. He’s confused, he’s wondering if Silver is lying, he’s wondering if this is another game.

“It rests between two cliffs like shoulder blades.” Silver adds and Smollett is intrigued now, he can tell, his silent huff is an indication.

He continues, “There’s a cliff above that shore that rises steep. If you listen close enough you can hear the clinking of swords.”

“Where is this shore, Mr. Silver?” Smollett asks. He can hear the desperation and it’s pathetically predictable.

Silver imagines that cliff above him in the dark, descending like a hand held out to him. He’d accept its palm if he could if he could reach that place again.

“Hidden away.” Silver replies cryptically and he knew that Smollett is too prideful to realize that Silver is stalling for time.

Smollett walks confidently to Dr. Livesey and grabs his wrist. Livesey is a whimpering mess, his words are unintelligible.  

“Captain Flint…” Silver says quietly.

“What about Flint?!” Smollett yells again and Silver hears the rocks crumbling. The abyss above him is growing, eating up the room.

There are pistol shots far off into the jungle, outside of this encampment. He sees the moment Smollett hears them too and the confusion riddles his face.

“…is here.” Silver finishes.

Smollett’s face is suddenly above his a moment later, he appears pale and spooked, “Captain Flint is dead.”

“Not anymore he’s not.” Silver says slowly and he gifts Smollett with dread. It’s a precious thing, dread in all things, the dreadful beasts that now roam outside searching for him.

It isn’t but a moment later that one of his men runs into the dusty room, out of breath, wild-eyed.

“Don’t know what’s happin’ sir, we’re bein’ attacked! There’s a man, he threw Benjamin’s head over the gate.”

There’s a hushed pounding silence that fills the room at those words.

“His head?” Smollett moves away from view and Silver blinks up into the abyss once more.

“His severed head, sir. One of thems screamin’…..screamin’ for John Silver.” The man shakily replies and Silver knows he’s pointing at him without bothering to look.

“You better tell me what’s happening, Mr. Silver or I will take that leg of yours.” Smollett snaps and he means it this time. It isn’t a bluff but it’s too late.  

“Hawkins has come with Captain Flint.” Silver replies and he’s filled with an ebbing warmth. Flint is out there screaming for him, his voice ringing out horror. For a moment, Silver feels like he’s enough. Enough for these monsters to cling importance to. The small voice in the back of his mind reminds him that it’s for the cache and has always been about the cache.

_Always the cache._

But he didn’t let it take hold of him. Not now.

“Take them back to their chains.” Smollett orders.

Smollett’s men grab him from the pedestal and drag him uncomfortably alongside Dr. Livesey. They bring them back to the room with the line of light that has dimmed into the night. Now the moon shines through and Silver studies it as they chain his wrists above his head once again. He can hear the distant screaming now like a song and the clinking of swords outside. It’s a comfort.

They are left in the moonlit glow of the room and Silver warns, “I’d try to avoid Captain Flint. He thinks you betrayed me, at least until I can speak to him.”

Dr. Livesey looks utterly frightened and it's then that Silver realizes that the doctor doesn’t know that Flint is Captain Barlow.

“Ah yes, I may have forgotten to mention that detail. Captain Barlow is indeed Captain Flint.” Silver admits.

“Jesus..” Dr. Livesey breathes.

He didn’t have the energy to explain further and would be perfectly fine with Dr. Livesey’s continued fearful confusion.

“I should have known.” Dr. Livesey says quietly and it surprises Silver; the acceptance.

“What do you mean?” Silver dares to ask and Dr. Livesey is looking at him with a soft tired expression.

“The way you act with one another. The way he observes you. I haven’t forgotten what you told me on The Hispaniola.” Dr. Livesey replies hesitantly.

“I only said that to get you to trust me.” Silver lies and it’s weak, even Dr. Livesey can see through it and it irritates him.

Dr. Livesey shakes his head as if he’s in awe of it, “These men that you’ve gathered to you. I’ve never seen anything like it. It must feel like you could conquer the world, Mr. Silver.”

“I don’t want to conquer anything, Livesey.” Silver snipes and listens to the battle growing closer. A pistol shot rings out into the darkness and causes Dr. Livesey to flinch. “This chapter of mine, of ours, is coming to a close. I would very much like to shut the book and admire the cover but never read it again.”

There’s a tug on that thread of theirs and it hammers his heart. Flint’s nearing and he can hear the screams to signify that.

“Move to the corner of the room, you don’t want to be the first thing he sees.” Silver orders and Dr. Livesey doesn’t hesitate.

He can hear the cutting of flesh and a yell of anguish within the ruin they reside in.

The old door to this room is opening and Silver expects the bloodied brilliance of Flint on the other side of it but instead, it's Smollett. There is a collapsing horror riddling his features. Blood is splattered across his beard and clothes. His eyes are glassy in the moonlight and he lifts a pistol to Silver with his shaking hand.

“If I cannot have it…the cache dies with you.” He whispers softly. Silver opens his mouth on a word but Smollett fires his pistol before he can speak.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we go back and see the battle through Flint. Let me know what you think! 
> 
> You can follow me on tumblr @brassfannibal for piratey things and updates! Thank you :)


	20. The Veil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flint and Hawkins lay waste to Smollett's camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As to be expected this chapter is a bit violent.

There are things that only beasts communicate through blood and bone. A likeness bred from the quiet rage. Flint has known its presence well. He recognizes the anomaly in Hawkins, although twisted and scrawled in shadow. He can see it in those unsettling eyes of his. The kind that reaches deep and takes things from him without permission. He’s like Silver in that way, if Silver had been a shadow of himself.

He’s watching Hawkins in a muted delirium yell orders at his men, bracing for the battle at hand. Flint feels tangled up in the dirt of this island. He can’t seem to move or grasp any root to pull him forth. Silver is in that camp below and that’s all that really matters to him.

“We burn the camp and leave none left,” Flint speaks and his voice booms, overpowering the crowd of men at their disposal. They are all silent to it. He isn’t in the mood for the usual impassioned speeches; there isn’t time to corral them. If any of them dared not to fight this day, then Flint would brand them a traitor.

There is the moon, wide and all-consuming as if it’s a spectator; a witness. A veiled mist rests here between the spaces of shadow and silence.

“Smollett is mine, however.” Hawkins corrects.  

“What of Dr. Livesey, Captain?” Ben asks, appearing more contemplative than wary.

“He’s a traitor,” Flint answers coldly with his snarl reigned back. Flint thinks idly that they should have ended the doctor’s life on The Hispaniola, but Silver liked to collect his share of admirers.

Out of the jungle, Hands steps towards him, his hand on the hilt of his sword. There’s the usual glare meant for him as if he can read his thought patterns.

“Put my blade to four scouts. The path is clear.” Hands relays.

Hawkins looks delighted with the news and motions for the men to begin trampling through the woods. They are the herders after all, leading some to slaughter.

From the back, one of the men exclaims, “I ain’t dyin’ for this! This is fuckin’ mad!”

He knows his men aren’t hardened pirates, they’re sailors. Unlike Hawkins’ men who lived and breathed in the grand madness of this jungle. Perhaps it’s cruel but Flint didn’t give a damn.

There is a dread-filled silence and the crowd steps aside to reveal the voice. A young thinning bearded man stands in their view. He looks affronted as both Hawkins and Flint eye him like patient wolves.

“You either die here a coward, or you fight with me. There is no other option.” Flint replies and keeps his voice low. He knows he sounds like a madman, a captain that has lost his way but it’s Silver in that camp and they cannot delay.

The man is contemplating something, he’s searching for someone to aid him but no one lends a hand in this argument. No one would dare.

He takes off suddenly in desperation, pushing through the crowd and running towards the tangled trees. A pistol fires with familiar precision from beside Flint and the coward falls to the brambles, dead. Flint turns to see Hawkins holding his pistol without so much as a twitch. “Glad we got that out of the way,” Hawkins states calmly.

Flint knows he should be furious. These are his men to deal with, not Hawkins’ but he hadn’t any fury for the maniac. The only fury he had is saved for that camp.

“Anyone else wish to contend?” Flint asks in a final echo.

A nervous terrified quiet spread among the men like a serpent. He nods, satisfied with their fear and they begin the trek through the overgrowth. Hawkins keeps his pistol out, hanging loosely in his hand.

“They need to be tethered to their fear of the wolves behind and precipice in front as sheep do,” Hawkins says keeping his eyes on the jungle before them.

“Why are you adamant about this fight?” Flint questions and Hawkins huffs a quiet laugh.

“That day when you captured the Maria Aleyne, what were your reasons?” Hawkins abruptly asks and it sets his mind off spinning towards a place he didn’t wish to visit. Not now. Not with what they’re about to do.

“Then it’s vengeance. Against Smollett, against the cache.” Flint surmises.

“Do I wish to carve myself into the hollow of Smollett’s skull? Yes, but vengeance is easy to see in the set of our shoulders. The rest is like this jungle, hidden away.” Hawkins says eerily calm.

“What are you hiding then?” Flint asks but the pit in his chest grows wider with the pounding silence between them.

_Silver._

He knew it like a blade opening his skin.

“John…” Flint says and his voice wavers, sounds exceptionally soft. He hadn’t meant to open himself up this way.

Hawkins eyes him then with his light ethereal stare as if a beast took notice of him in the woods.

“I know men. I know the violence that rests here. I recognize the gnashing of jaws. There was so much darkness for a time. I could light a hundred torches and be unable to see my own fingers in front of me. I could see in you the countenance of such a thing but John Silver…” Hawkins releases a small breath, keeping the words he wishes to speak trapped.

“I know,” Flint replies and looks back towards the large crowd of men fanning out behind them. Their shapes are blurred edges as if they are simply chess pieces to be used. That is what they are to Flint and that is what they are to Hawkins. The only difference is, Hawkins’ men loved him. Somehow through their fear, it twisted into something more than admiration.

“It’s a trick he’s perfected but I saw a reflection in him as if he’s a witch with an illusion to sell. I cannot…free it from my mind.” Hawkins replies truthfully and he sounds extremely relieved to be able to confess it.

“He’s exceptional at letting you see what you wish to see,” Flint replies. He understands that power of allure since he’s been in Silver’s presence for as long as he has but it is no less potent to him.

“When I was a child, I met an older boy. Blue eyes like your John, even the smile was the same. Not quite there and crooked if you were to truly look. He was mute, didn’t speak a word. We hid in the space beneath the docks together for a time. I nearly died from the cold but we huddled together like rats. I can see the resemblance in John Silver. Am I to ever know if Silver is truly him or is it merely Silver giving me what I wish, a memory distorted, a reminder?” Hawkins asks but he didn’t expect an answer. Flint didn’t have one to give.

Hawkins continues, “So you see, when the darkness ate away this place I asked it to give me that memory of those eyes and then John Silver stepped into my camp. He peered into the depths of the nothingness I hold, and he rewarded me with sight.”

There’s a breath and then with the snapping of twigs, “I will kill for him…your John.”  

Flint hasn’t felt this unsettled in some time, as if a specter passed through him, leaving him with nothing but uncertainty and awareness. He wonders if Hawkins was being truthful, had he released a part of his past to Flint? Or had he told him what he needed to hear?

The open ragged field leading to the ruin pressed into the side of the mountain, hung over the camp like a warning. Flint spots a flock of birds take flight from the crumbling ancient tower. This is the breath before the plunge.

It begins like this: When they reach the ramshackle gates of this ancient precipice a guard calls to them once before sending out one of their men to greet them. Flint stood at the front of the line eyeing the terrified scout who quietly asked them to state their business. Hawkins had circled behind the young man and sliced into him without so much as a warning.

Flint remembers looking down at the wide opened eyes of the scout, peering up at him, voiceless forever. Their soldiers of ragged men met them beyond the gate but they weren’t ready for them. They weren’t ready for the fury that lies dormant here, that Flint used against them all.

Flint let it guide him forth through the haze. He let it dictate his blade, sending blood like payment to the soil beneath. Hawkins stood beside him with his own brand of rage, mapped out in a jagged circumference. They were unstoppable.

The wolves, which were the island given voice, have finally come to claim it for the dead; the ghosts that cling to the moonlight.

After this, Flint would never speak on it or admit to it but he saw the true dark shape that is Hawkins. Beyond the bloodied smile and violent merciless dance of his sword. He held something Flint could never attain, a higher acceptance of the dark. He was envious of him, to carry something so wretched and be able to glide as a light as a feather. He could easily feed off of Flint’s ancient guilt like a soul-eater.

Hawkins men also possessed a wickedness as an extension of him. They’re rabid. They bite, they claw, as if swords were a secondary option.

It’s a massacre.

Flint dispatches two men in a swift elegant whip of his sword, these men die easily. It should be a thing of torment but Flint feels nothing but urgency in this moment, another life to move the fight ahead. It’s then he observes Hawkins, who’s soaked in blood, carry a head of a man towards the gates. Two of Smollett’s men run from him in absolute terror at the sight as he tosses the severed head over the wall. It’s utterly barbaric but he understood it, beneath the impending death of this place.

They climb then, climb up the crumbling walls unable to keep the fiends at bay.

Flint begins to call for Silver, while he cuts down the running faceless wave that approaches. He screams his name as he slices forward, gathering the blood to him as well.

There is no true plan, no negotiating, they were here to rid of them all.

“Alexander!” Hawkins sings eerily loud out into the battle. They grab the torches out of their holders and begin to terrorize all who dare reside behind these walls. He’s stepped into a memory of fire on the horizon with a ship waiting in dark in the bay and a one-legged man always waiting for him to return. They’re perpetually stuck there, somehow in a nightmare distorted. It’s as if Flint could never reach him, and with each step, he’s further away.

Hawkins throws a nearby torch onto a tent, lighting it up brilliantly. Only now, this place just housed Smollett’s hopeless men.

“John Silver!” Flint shouts to the night like a howl. He waited in that violent dark for an answer, any answer.

The fire followed them, eating away the tents and growing with enormity. The men flee mostly, yelling in unintelligible horror. Smollett’s men are starving, they are diseased, they are tired. Flint could pretend that they are releasing them from the torture but they were what they feared, the island’s guiding hand.

Glimpsing Hawkins beside him lit up by the burning camp, is like stepping beneath the veil of the underworld. Is that where they are now? A place without stars? Even the moon is smothered by the billowing plume. Hawkins now Hades.

Hawkins fires his pistol killing a man fleeing behind the wreckage of the tents and greets Flint with a smile clouded by the smoke from his pistol.

There is something primal to be found here in this camp from the structures that stretch to a place beyond comprehendible time. He thinks in this space of a moment that they belong here. It’s as if they’ve unearthed the long dead corpse of this very island.

The large ancient structure in front of them is lit up only by torchlight. Hawkins waves his hand in front of him, signifying that Flint is welcome to enter first.

Flint spots the bloody face of Hands eyeing him from afar, his ax stained and at the ready. “Take some of the men and finish off the beginnings of this camp.” Flint orders.

Hands nods in understanding, a word hidden beneath his tongue he didn’t voice.

Flint steps through yet another invisible veil.

Inside, Flint is greeted with the backfire of a pistol that almost met his chest. The man who fired it awkwardly attempts to reload and Flint swiftly cuts him down.

More of Smollett’s men lunge at them from hiding spaces in the inlets between the stone and Hawkins uses his dagger to meet the first one’s throat.

The firing of a pistol resounds suddenly from down the corridor, setting him off balance by the echoing of it as if a piece of his heart has broken free. One of Smollett’s men uses this opportunity to slice forward cutting into Flint’s shoulder. It snaps him painfully back to his senses before he swings his sword down ending the man permanently. The wound on his shoulder meant nothing, he hardly felt it. All he wished to know was where that pistol shot had come from.

He exchanges a glance with Hawkins and they move quickly around a bend in the narrowing corridor.

“Alexander!” Hawkins screams and the stones crumble with it. They spot the back of Smollett running swiftly towards the other exit and Hawkins takes off, hunting his prey. Flint couldn’t say why he didn’t join him in the chase but something held him back as if a familiar tether binds him here to this ruin.

He keeps his sword at his side and stalks the narrow passageway. Beyond the haze, he spots an opening in the wall where Smollett had been standing. He approaches it carefully, his boots not making a sound against the dusty dirt beneath. He slowly moves into the doorway of the small dark room, lit only by the stray light from the suffocated moon.

There on the floor is Dr. Livesey, hovering over someone in a panicked frenzy. Flint saw nothing however but his blinding rage. He lifts his sword as Dr. Livesey turns to him, holding up his hand before he strikes and yells, “It’s Mr. Silver!”

Flint’s rage dies from his features immediately at those words and he holds his sword above him with a shaking realization.

There on the floor is Silver lying against the wall, holding his bloodied side, sweaty and half conscious. Flint's sword drops with a resounding clang and he kneels down beside him immediately.

“What the fuck happened?!” Flint’s voice heightens and Dr. Livesey moves to Silver’s side.

“Smollett shot him and it is buried in his side, I must find a proper space to pull the bullet from him or he will surely die!” Dr. Livesey shakily exclaims. The chains around their wrists had been freed and Dr. Livesey shows him the key. “I took this from one of his men.”

Flint hovers over Silver, as Dr. Livesey’s words echo in the background of his skull. Silver blinks up at him hazily as if he’s a mirage. “Come to take me home.” He whispers.

Flint bends down, gathering the warmth of Silver into his arms and lifts him. Silver cries out in anguish at the action and Dr. Livesey moves ahead motioning for Flint to follow.

“There was a room with an altar and some tools, I will take you there, Captain.” Dr. Livesey says but Flint barely heard him over the pounding of his heart. Silver’s head lulls against his shoulder, his eyes barely open and he grips onto Flint’s chest with his stained fingers. There’s an exhausted anger beneath his pained features.

“You promised me.” Silver breathes accusatory.

“And it is not something I intend to break.” Flint replies but his voice is foreign to him; shaken apart.

\--

“That raving bitch is behind me, hold her off!” Smollett screams at the small group of men as he saunters off into the trees.

Hawkins listens from the shadow of the tangled tree trunk. The moonlight has always been enough to guide him, to whisper things not yet spoken. He hears them sometimes, the ghosts that were pulled here, gasping and distorted. He hears them in a half-remembered dream.

He’d be drinking rum from one of his cracked teacups and he’d remember a voice that spoke to him in the night. Not what the voice said but how it sounded, the shape of the words; the scratch of it was almost inhuman to the ear.

This island has chosen him to be its voice, to be its sword, to be its face, he can’t remember his thoughts before the dark, to a time when he buried a blade into his father’s chest. This island opened up to him after that.

He thinks he should be laughing, crushing flower petals between his teeth before he moves to the next shadow, listening for the clumsy snapping of twigs from Smollett’s frantic escape. He’s trapped like they all were, running in the dirt.

Hawkins spots one of Smollett’s men with their sword out like a silhouette of a statue in the murky dark. He’s waiting in the tall grass for him.

Crouching low and moving elegantly quiet through the pulp of the dried bushes, he thinks he’d like to experience a form of joy from this. Sometimes it’s there and ever so fleeting. It's tormenting in and of itself to have the correct amount of feeling in his periphery. He can snatch at them like ghosts and pretend he knows when to smile or when to feign sadness. Often times, a smile tends to pull across his lips at inappropriate moments but he’s never been one for etiquette. Who should decide when one smiles? When one finds amusement in a world of horrors?

He reaches Smollett’s man standing in the grass and grabs his shoulders, slicing his dagger across his throat. He falls gurgling to the ground and Hawkins whispers softly, “Welcome home.”

He tracks in the direction of Smollett’s clumsy attempt at an escape but before he reaches a small clearing shaved in the mass of overgrowth, a pistol shot rings out in the darkness. Hawkins feels the impact of it burst pain from his shoulder and falls to the dirt in a gasp.

He rolls over onto his back, reaching a shaking hand to his shoulder, feeling the blood congeal there. The sting of it is familiar, he’s felt it before after all. The view of the dark canopy above is suddenly obstructed by Alexander Smollett’s face above him; a smoking pistol in his hand. He looks sweaty, disheveled, enraged but still very much the same.

“You’re monstrous….” Smollett says through gritted teeth. “This path has warped you and destined you for hell.”

Hawkins smiles wide, holding his burning shoulder, “Can’t you see, Alexander? We are already here and you’re here with me.”

Smollett begins to load his pistol once again with a sweaty ignorant confidence; a disgust growing in his features.  “I should have expelled you from this earth, that was my mistake. I thought I could be of help.”

Hawkins laughs softly then and cringes from the fresh pain, “Is that what you wish to call it? Do you pride yourself for attempting to tame a demon? Has that goodness bought you a place in a divine’s embrace?”

“Your father wished the best for you, Joanna. He attempted to bring you normalcy, one he could not attain himself through his sin.” Smollett preaches.

“I hear that name from lips of ignorance. A sad herd of cattle unaware of its very own shadow.” Hawkins replies with amusement.

“I had come to care for you once. You had the potential of a reformed wife.” Smollett admits and finishes loading the pistol.

Those words linger like small whispers, gathering around them, passed beyond a barrier that snapped inside him. He’s dallied on this precipice for long enough.

“It will not be you who ends me. You’ve not been chosen.” Hawkins whispers to the smoke choking the moon.

Before Smollett can fire his pistol, Hawkins swipes his dagger viciously across Smollett’s ankle. He screams in agony, firing the pistol aimlessly into the soil, missing Hawkins. It’s his turn to fall and when he does Hawkins looms over him with terrifying anticipation.

Despite the bullet wound, Hawkins lunges forward on top of him and wraps his gloved hands around Smollett’s throat. This wasn’t to kill him but to tame him, to calm him. Smollett grabs at him in the struggle uselessly but Hawkins grip is too unforgiving.

Once unconscious, Hawkins stands again, adjusting his jacket and brushing his hair from his eyes. There’s a crack of a twig in the dark and Hawkins grabs Smollett’s pistol to point it at the shadow approaching.

Ben Gunn appears with his hands held up calmly assessing the situation. Hawkins lowers his pistol and gives him a small smile.

“I followed you, wasn’t sure if you needed help but I see you’ve managed,” Ben says with a smile of his own.

“Would you mind helping me carry him back to camp? I could drag him but this would be much easier.” Hawkins asks politely and sticks Smollett’s pistol in his jacket.

\--

Sweat drips down Dr. Livesey’s brow as he digs into Silver’s skin.

Silver remembers losing himself to blackness a moment ago, only to awaken once again to a new form of agony. Flint is above him, his brows creased in worry, his eyes not leaving his. He’s stained with blood and dirt. He looks as if he’s crawled in the mud to get to him.

Silver remembers refusing anything to bite down on and released his screams above them for that dim vaulted ceiling. He feels as though he’s being torn slowly apart. It’s a different anguish than his leg, although amounting to the same thing. Another wound, another collection of what ifs.

He could die here and he recognizes that such a possible outcome is what leaves Flint with that haunted expression. He didn’t wish to hear any confessions, however. He’d consider it rather insulting that he wishes to speak his heart to the dying.

Silver cringes as Dr. Livesey triumphantly releases the intact bullet. Flint moves closer to him then and rests his hand against his cheek. A tear born from pain escapes Silver’s eyelash and connects with Flint’s palm.

“The camp is ours,” Flint says, quietly. Silver never had any doubt.

Silver blinks in understanding but this camp, this ancient place of dwelling, has never belonged to anyone, not even to the original souls that built this structure. He suspects all that claim to have captured it face the fate of disappearing from history altogether. The island makes it so.

He knows his thoughts resemble Hawkins’ musings and it should unsettle him, but it doesn’t. He’s gained a new understanding lying in this ruin. One could easily ascertain that there is something here beyond them, it could be his own madness or it could be the rise and fall; the breathing dirt.

A dark unbidden thought gathers inside him like the tightening of thorned vines. He’d have to make a sacrifice as Hawkins did, he’d have to give something back to this limbo before they can journey home.

He focuses on the sharp green of Flint’s eyes and reaches out grasping the material of his jacket. Flint understands most of all and he moves in, softly connecting his lips to his. It’s a small gesture but it banishes the inevitable thoughts to a new abyss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This journey is close to its end. I'm going to miss writing it. Let me know what you think!
> 
> You can follow me on tumblr @brassfannibal for more piratey things and updates. Thank you :)


	21. Trapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The breath before the plunge.

The muffled light blinks a lament to him as Silver sinks. His arms outstretched above as he’s pulled further into the deep. He thinks he’s a shipwreck like the rest, that the Walrus crew is to meet him in the below. What would they say to him if they could speak? Would they blame him? Would they forgive him? Would they remain forever silent?

The silence would be punishment.

The hand that has a hold of his ankle is familiar, delicate and pale. He’s seen those hands before, those hands that are usually covered. Hawkins is pulling him down with him. 

He’s willing to go.

Silver jolts awake, his heart is racing erratically in his chest and he feels unmoored once again. He’s lying on a cot inside a battered tent. The flap moves quietly eerie in the wind but it’s the only sound. He attempts to sit up and releases a pained grunt; his side is lit up once again like a fire rests inside it.

He’s slumbering with the dead of this camp, and his guilty silence. He wishes he felt sorrow for Smollett’s men, they were after all, just following orders and perhaps he would have once but that part of him is charred and on the verge of crumbling.

He listens closely to the silence and the flapping of the tent. He is more in tune with the island than he’s ever been. Resting in the ruined temple tethered him to the soil here, to the apathetic jungle that surrounds them like onlookers. He will have to sever that tether in order to leave and it will create a scar.

He hears the crunching of boots, light-footed, calm unlike Flint’s gait and can guess the face he’ll see before they open the flap. Hawkins steps inside quietly with a smile. Only this smile seemed alarmingly genuine.

Hawkins pats his own shoulder with a cringe and says, “You and I were both given a bullet by Alexander.”

“You found him then?” Silver asks and he now understands why the darkness had taken a new shape around Hawkins; a goal fulfilled.

“I have him in a web and I will cleanse the island of him tonight,” Hawkins replies darkly resolute.

He watches as Hawkins approaches him and sits comfortably on the side of his cot.

“You had me captured so that I could see his face, I could know him.”  Silver says but there is no anger there, not now.

Hawkins watches him openly and nods slowly. There’s a new vulnerability between them and it’s uneasiness latches itself to the humid air. “I won’t be apologizing, I don’t apologize, things happen as they are but I see that you understand. That you saw what I wanted you to see. What did you see while you lay dying in that ruin?”

“A new purpose.” Silver admits easily.

Hawkins smile is shadowed in an odd veil of sad acceptance, “You’ve been chosen as I thought you would. I knew it when you first stepped into my camp.”

Silver rests his hand against his burning bandaged side and replies, “Chosen for what?”

“There will be a moment in the future, you’ll know it then. As I did when I rid of my father. Would you like to witness Alexander’s denouement tonight?” Hawkins asks and that shark-like smile forms on his face once again.

“How will he meet his end?” Silver asks with a tilt of his head against the scratchy pillow.

“By fire.” Hawkins' eyes light up at those words and Silver can almost see flames in their reflection, left over from the destruction. He’s entranced by it; the morbid delirium of accepting an altered version of oneself.

The flap opens, letting the dreary haze seep in and Flint has a glare for Hawkins, who hops up cheerily from the cot.

“I’ll leave you two to your own devices,” Hawkins says eyeing Flint with amusement. Silver can see the beginnings of admiration. Their bond had formed through blood.

Silver spots the crutch in Flint’s hands. Flint had found the time to make him a new one. He can guess by glancing at it, it wouldn’t be as sturdy as the last but it’s enough.

“When you are able to walk, I’d like you to try this,” Flint says quietly and sets it against the end of the cot. “How are you feeling?”

“I fear Dr. Livesey is keeping his appearance scarce, he’s terrified of you and Hawkins.” Silver says with a growing grin.

“I’ll not kill him yet, he’s still of use,” Flint replies with his own smile.

“It wasn’t his fault, Hawkins manipulated us both.” Silver replies and Flint didn’t appear surprised by the revelation.

He sits in the same spot that Hawkins was a moment ago; mirrored. Flint reaches out and places a hand on his thigh covered in the fur of the blankets. He wishes for the warmth to absorb through to claim his skin. 

“Tell me your thoughts,” Flint asks, softly and Silver closes his eyes, rearranging the patterns into something distinguishable.

“I feel as though I gave a piece of myself away in that ruin to come out of it alive.” Silver replies and he doesn’t wish to open his eyes. He doesn’t want to see the concern form on Flint’s brow.

The hand on his thigh squeezes tighter and it holds him here.

“We are under an illusion. The island, Hawkins, it’s but a mirage. Let’s not give this place any more power than it already has attained. We get the cache and we leave this place for good.” Flint answers and Silver opens his eyes on the word ‘cache’.

“If we release it from its prison here on this island, don’t you think it will do nothing but wreak its havoc once again?” Silver asks and watches Flint’s face fall.

“We made a deal, you said-“ Flint begins and Silver interrupts.

“Yes, and I will hold to it…for you but my opinion on that fucking chest hasn’t changed, it never will. Don’t think I’ve somehow seen your side of it.” Silver confesses breathlessly. The pain in his side crescendos with ferocity as beads of sweat collect at his temple.

“You will see in the long run that this is giving purpose to those sacrifices, John.” Flint replies and the anger unfurls from his throat.

“Don’t you dare…” Silver’s voice wavers, “Don’t you fucking dare, feed me that manipulation. This was never about giving any sacrifice a new meaning. Even if you choose not to be a part of a new war born from it you can live with knowing that it is alive somewhere. That it’s spreading. I will live with it and die with it but I will not embrace it.”  Silver releases and Flint’s hand leaves his thigh, along with the warmth but just as Silver suspects he’d leave, Flint moves closer. He presses his forehead to his and Silver feels as though his skull is collapsing.

Flint wants him to calm down, he’s worried about provoking the wound and Silver slows his breathing with that knowledge. He’s shaking slightly, and his eyes are welling with melancholy familiarity. “I’ve accepted..that you will always have a love for that chest and what it could bring to this world.”

“Whatever world that can be created or recreated is not worth anything to me unless you reside inside it.” Flint whispers above his lips.

Silver felt as if the pain from the wound in his side could devour him whole, that he’d meet his final rest unless Flint pressed his lips to his. Like all things, Flint reads his inner turmoil like an old book. He kisses him like a pent-up flame, uncoordinated, heady in desperation. Their teeth and tongues clash messily. Silver can feel Flint give him his worries like a shared burden. He thought he’d die, he thought he’d lose him. He recognizes the fear in a distorted periphery.

Without speaking, Flint tells him his truths once again through touch and it’s enough. Flint has always been enough for Silver, that isn’t the problem.

\--

Hawkins sets the burning torch in its handle beside a faceless statue that he imagines used to be beautifully defined. There’s another across the darkened room only lit up by the torch, with its mouth agape in a warning. Hawkins feels as though it’s for him.

Smollett rests against the wall chained and he squints against the flickering light that Hawkins presents him with.

“Joanna..” He grits harshly.

“Joanna was but a mirage, you speak to the wolf now, the island itself. The veil has lifted.” Hawkins replies darkly. Shadows dance amongst them waiting patiently for their truths to be voiced.

He attempts to laugh but Hawkins can sense his fear, it’s gratifying.

“Still playing dress up like your father. You’ve given your soul away.” Smollett accuses.

“Oh, I played once, long ago.” Hawkins begins and removes one of his gloves to hold up his scarred palm for Smollett to see. “Remember, you tried to banish the sin from me like you would brand cattle.”

“You took a man’s life, your father wanted you redeemed otherwise you would have hanged but I see there was no saving you.”

Hawkins gives him an easy smile, “Oh yes, how could I forget. He believed in that mirage, the same way you all did. The island called to me even then, across an ocean and I answered its greeting with a blade as I always have.”

“You were distraught when you were found, you wanted forgiveness.” Smollett reminds and Hawkins has a laugh for him like a final gift.

“An illusion, Alexander. I felt nothing for that man. I felt nothing when I ended my father in that jungle. Do you not see it yet? In my eyes..” Hawkins bends down in front of Smollett and he presses himself against the crumbling stone wall encasing them.

He searches Hawkins’ eyes as he invited him to and he is met with fearful puzzlement. “Do you not see flames reflected? The island’s face?”

“You are without a soul,” Smollett repeats in a whisper.

Hawkins sighs and stands, putting his glove back on. He walks over to the torch to claim it, the heat of the flames reaching out to kiss his face. “Two sacrifices are needed and you are one of them, bound for ash.”

\--

After stepping reluctantly from the tent Flint observes Hawkins’ men finishing up the pyre beside the ancient ruin. It’d be a proper sacrifice to a place such as this and he had no qualms about it. The history they had isn’t something Flint wishes to interfere with, although he’d much rather drive a sword into his heart for shooting Silver but his death isn’t his to decide.

They had spent far too long searching for Smollett to end him and now that the moment has arrived Flint recognizes that he isn’t where the darkness resides. He was never their biggest threat. He was just a man, gone mad like the rest of his men here, lost among the ghosts that haunt this jungle.

Flint thinks, as they are bringing Smollett out to be tied to the wooden pole like that of an accused witch, that they will have to kill Hawkins the moment they retrieve the cache.

He meets Smollett’s stare for the first time and he holds his eyes as if he wished to tell him something, something that can’t be voiced. He suspects Hawkins may have planned for a betrayal of some kind and that they would have to be ready because it would not be just Hawkins that they’d deal with but his devoted men, his followers.

Hawkins appears from the darkness of the beyond beside him. He stands with his hands behind his back, proud, with a wide smile to greet the impending death of Smollett by his hand.

“I suspect Silver is not well enough to join us?” Hawkins asks with a raise of his brow.

“No, and I do not think he’d get pleasure out of witnessing this,” Flint replies curtly.

“I didn’t think he would but everyone likes to be a witness to a chapter closing. You both have come so far.” Hawkins says wistfully but that sly smile remains intact.

An eerie discontent washes over him. He feels as if he is caught in the undertow of it, unable to reach the surface. It isn’t because he is about to watch a man burn alive, it isn’t because this violent chaotic chapter is closing. It’s the thrumming in his blood, what he’s grown accustomed to with a ship full of men that wished to kill him. Hawkins didn’t need Flint anymore and all that remains is removing him from the equation. Could he be another sacrifice for him? An obstacle in the way of his connection to Silver?

He realizes that both Silver and Hawkins feel connected to one another, for they are different versions of one another born out of different shades of a shared shadow.

Flint knows. He knows that he isn’t meant to last the night.

Hawkins nods as one of the men bring a torch for him. He watches as Hawkins walks through the darkened crowd towards Smollett.

“All of you will never be saved!” Smollett cries to the night.

Flint has already been saved by Silver, there is no other saving required. Even though, now, within the underworld themselves, he will fight for them both to climb out of this hell together.

Smollett curses as Hawkins lights the dried twigs and Flint watches in rapt dread as the flames spread quickly towards him. Hawkins sets the torch down neatly, the crowd of men separate for him like they would a king. He’s their king. Their god. He begins to walk towards Flint through that shadowed crowd once again, with the flames at his back and the beginnings of Smollett’s unintelligible screams as a chorus. The shadows painted over him, make him appear like a charred skeleton approaching Flint out of the depths of the darkness.

He’d never seen anything like it, the pure terror at his disposal. He wielded it well, as Skeleton Island himself.

When Hawkins finally reaches him he stands close to him, beside him as you would a comrade. They watch him burn together.

The smell of it is nothing new, the sound of it is nothing new. He’s set entire towns ablaze with such a goal. Yet, this feels raw like a slow evisceration. Hawkins looks immensely cheery in the face of the madness. This is home for him as it was once home for Flint. He knows the singed delusion of it.

His screams are louder now, drowning out any noise made from the island, it is eerily silent to it.

“There was a man named Montgomery…” Hawkins begins, loudly over the cries. Flint moves his eyes away from the melting body of Smollett towards the sky which held no stars this night. The smoke claimed the dark; masking the rest.

“He told me that I should sit pretty, keep my mouth shut like a porcelain doll and that only then would I be a presentable option to wed, but of course not of high society. Just someone like him, a leatherworker. He said that I would learn my place, that I would learn to obey. A wolf does not obey.” Hawkins stops, taking in the sound of the screeches that now wracked Smollett.

Hawkins continues, “So, I took a spade, which rested on a dirty bench beside me and I let him know what wolves do. I claimed him for the island before I even knew the island was real. I feigned fright, hysteria. Oh, I was wailing but beneath all of that, there was nothing at all. Not even pleasure. I was a ghost of someone else, someone’s rage without warrant.”

The screaming has stopped, only the sound of large devouring flames rested in the background.

“After that, Alexander Smollett thought he’d be my savior, that he could cure me of sin. That he could also be someone I could love in return for his act of ‘kindness’. Take out of that what you will, Captain Flint but my purpose was to feed what was left of them to this soil.  I imparted meaning to my father’s life by having it end here in a place that holds the past so tightly. And I know what you are thinking…you are thinking that I have no use for you now which you’d be right but…” Hawkins holds up his finger before squinting with amusement at Flint.

“I know it’s you who holds the location of the cache, not John Silver.” Hawkins finishes and Flint slowly reaches for his dagger that rests in his belt.

He has a moment of panicked realization that Silver rests alone in that tent, a hindrance to their journey, a loose end. That it wasn’t himself he felt dread for but Silver. He turns and begins to run towards his tent far off into the dark, Hawkins lets him. No one attempts to stop him and he feels like his heart could burst open onto the soil, another sacrifice for the island.

Was Hawkins somehow distracting him? Keeping his thoughts in erratic patterns? He can’t think properly around him, can’t hold his thoughts together, they’ve come unbound and they are gathering in the harsh wind. He hadn’t a torch to see in this wretched darkness but his eyes had adjusted enough away from the roaring flames. How had he not foreseen this? Was Hawkins truly telling him what he wanted to hear? Had he been feigning his love for Silver to relate to him? For Flint to form a temporary pact with him?

“John!” He yells uselessly as he nears the darkened shape that is his tent. There is no answer, only the shuffling of the flap from the wind.

He releases a breath, his chest heaving with an unmatched mania. He shoves his way inside and he spots the shadow of Silver lying still on his cot but he can hardly see anything beyond it.

“John…” He breathes and Silver didn’t stir. He feels choked for air as he moves quickly and falls to his knees beside his cot, hovering over him and grabbing his arm. He feels more than sees Silver stir beneath his palm. He’s alive.

Flint feels the relief collapse him from the inside and Silver blinks up at him in the dark, “What happened? What’s going on?”

He suspects witnessing Flint’s glassy-eyed panic has set him on edge.

“Hawkins knows-“ Flint begins and then the flap opens again, a glowing lantern peering inside. Hawkins remains on the threshold like a fiend that can only be invited in and Flint pulls out his dagger.

“What the fuck is going on?” Silver questions.

“A miscommunication. I am not here to kill either of you, I merely want to say that once Silver is well again the three of us should seek out the cache. I do hope you both get some rest, you look like you need it.” Hawkins says before taking his leave immediately.

Flint realizes with a new terror that Hawkins had meant what he said when they spoke of Silver and even more so now. Now that he knows Silver isn’t of practical use to Hawkins, he would have no interest in keeping Flint happy, Silver is alive solely because Hawkins loves him.  That love being a twisted sort of unrecognizable entity that could be their way home.

“Hawkins knows you don’t know the location of the cache.” Flint releases a breath but Silver isn’t surprised. In fact, he appears calm.

“I know. I told him.” Silver says in the dark and Flint feels like he could fall back into the abyss of the soil. He lights a lantern to add the flickering glow to their faces.

“Christ…why would you do that? Why didn’t you tell me?” Flint asks and he can feel that rage beginning to consume him again.

“I had a feeling he wouldn’t see a use for you anymore once Smollett was dead and so I gave him that information knowing full well he could kill me for it but I knew he wouldn’t. I told you I had him. I have him.” Silver says confidently unbothered. He keeps his bright eyes on Flint’s.

“Does he have you?” Flint asks and clenches his jaw when Silver takes a moment to answer.

“In a different way, I suppose.” Silver comments, sliding his eyes to a new shadow formed.

Flint stands, towering over him.

“What the fuck does that mean?” His resolve is coming apart.

“Lay with me..” Silver asks quietly and reaches his hand out to Flint. The image of it, Silver lying there with open vulnerability asking him something so simple, yet something that undoes him all the same. Flint grabs his hand and moves carefully over him to rest in the tight empty spot beside him on the cot. Silver turns slowly onto his good side with a cringe to face him. Strands of his hair fall over his eyes and Flint refrains from brushing them away. He’s supposed to be angry.

“It has to be me.” Silver says softly and he searches Flint’s face with an old sadness. “…I have to be the one to kill him.”

“Why?” Flint asks with the shake of his head.

“Promise me that I will be the one to do it.” Silver interrupts and Flint reaches his palm out to rest on Silver’s cheek because he can’t hold back any longer.

He moves in and presses his lips to Silver’s forehead, remaining close as he avoids the wound. “I promise,” Flint whispers, his breath moving through Silver’s hair.

He didn’t press the issue as much as he wished to, he hoped they’d have time to speak on all of this once it was done.

“We’re going home.” Silver says and the beginnings of a genuine smile stretches his face.

\--

Silver lets the days blur into nothing, a background memory of unimportant tasks. He healed, he began to walk again with the help of Flint’s newly made crutch. The give isn’t as forgiving as his old one but in time he’d break it in properly or until he can manipulate Flint into making him a new one. They haven’t talked much since that night he made Flint promise, they just lie awake next to each other waiting for the nightmare to come to its end. He hadn’t seen Hawkins much either during this time and he suspects he’d be off somewhere smashing teacups as a symbolized tearing down of civilized society.

Things are moving forward and Hawkins is letting it.

Silver stood in the haze of the fog that trapped the daylight in an odd collective half-light. He limped towards the edge of the fog and beyond it lies the jungle.

“Tomorrow then?” Hawkins' voice says behind him and Silver turns slowly to face him. 

He looks paler than usual and is without the familiar dreaded smile. He isn’t wearing the usual coat either, his hair is messy, ready to fall into his eyes and he isn’t wearing gloves. He looks more real now than he ever has. A man, not a beast.

“Tomorrow it is.” Silver replies with his own smile.

Hawkins doesn’t return it and Silver squints at him, attempting to read him. He blinks tiredly at Silver, his boots squelching in the mud when he pivots.

“Were you the boy from my memory? The mute, blue-eyed one who huddled close and kept a dying soul warm?” Hawkins asks and he appears genuinely concerned, clearly haunted by this very question.

“I’ve no memory of such a thing.” Silver lies, perfectly. The edge of it as pristine as his dagger.

Hawkins looks suspiciously disappointed and he searches Silver’s eyes for the lie but doesn’t find it.

“You remind me of him, like a ghost.” Hawkins replies and Silver cruelly lets the question continue to torture him.

“We’ve never met before this island.” Another lie.

There’s a moment's hesitation before Hawkins nods once, still not quite believing him but it would remain as such.

These lies come easier now than even in his youth and he lets them roll off his tongue, creating more questions. He’s made himself into a haunting on purpose. It extends whatever morbid feelings Hawkins has for him into a further abyss, one that he will never be able to escape out of.

Silver has him trapped. The notion of it pulls a false smile once again across his lips with a practiced darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are almost finished! Let me know what you think!
> 
> You can follow me on tumblr @brassfannibal for piratey things and updates. Thank you :)


	22. Pendulum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flint, Silver and Hawkins enter the heart of the island.

Once upon a time, there was a boy who had forgotten how to speak, who huddled wrapped around a boy just like him in the shivering dark. They ate old scraps, living for a short time with a family of rats. The carriages above the small enclosed space within the cobblestone paid them no mind.

The snow fell without mercy; the cold pressing against their throats.

“I’m Jim.” The younger boy had said and wrapped his arms around the older silent boy.

The silent boy didn’t have a name, not yet but he knew even then the importance of a name. He knew that once naming himself, this silent boy would be no more and someone new would take his place. Someone who smiled easier and is fearless beneath the sun. Someone people found both hate and adoration in.

“How come you don’t speak?” Jim asked.

The silent boy had no use for words then. There was a harsh violence to them releasing them like that onto the world. He didn’t need someone to speak for him either, even if others had tried. They didn’t hold his thoughts, his thoughts are his own. If he could have, he would have said:

_‘Because there is no taking back something once said.’_

\--

Their boots squelch in the soft bundle of leaves on the snake-like tongue of the island. They are heading for its throat.

There’s a twitch in Hawkins smile now when he flashes it at Silver. Silver recognizes this tick, he has it himself. Hawkins knows he may not make it out of this alive and yet he went with them willingly alone.

What motive could he possibly have?

They let Flint be their guide, a shovel tied to his back, walking ahead of them through old memories made new but Silver notices something else in Hawkins. He seems to understand, to know where they are headed. He either read Flint’s thoughts or he’s been on this path before. The knowledge is subtle, Silver isn’t sure Flint has picked up on it but he can tell. Hawkins may be following but this isn’t his first time in this part of the jungle. It unnerves him greatly.

Silver’s side still burns from the hobbled effort but he’d never let that be known. He could handle this hike, it’s the most important one yet. The cache, the heart, Flint’s twisted purpose.

“Wish to rest soon?” Flint calls from ahead of them through the mist. Hawkins says nothing, uncharacteristically quiet.

“No.” Silver snaps and it sounds more irritable than he meant it to.

He can feel the soil breathing beneath him, like a pulse and he knows it’s imagined but it didn’t make it any less terrifying. He observes Flint vanish in the glowing fog lit up by the fragmented light. He watches Hawkins back who walks in front of him. His coat swishes around him, his footsteps lighter than his or Flint’s. He’s without his gloves. Somehow that’s significant, it’s important.

“No gloves?” Silver tosses out in an attempt at idle conversation but they both know the answer will be a veiled layered confession.

“No need to hide anymore, John.” Hawkins states and the way he says it, seems as though he is telling Silver this rather than speaking about himself.

He feels like they are being watched, by the trees, by the mist, by the impenetrable sky. They’re waiting to be swallowed whole.

Up ahead is a deep chasm, leading to a large waterfall down a river. Across the chasm is an ancient rope bridge that disappears partly into the fog, he can’t see the end. Flint stands waiting at the beginnings of it for them to catch up to him.

“We’ll have to cross this, otherwise it may take us an extra day to traverse around it.” Flint surmises.

“After you..” Hawkins replies politely, motioning for Flint to carry onward. Always ahead, never looking back.

Flint steps onto the creaking wood first and then Hawkins right after. Silver tests it out, gripping onto the soaked rope for leverage. The three of them head towards the wall of fog waiting to greet them, waiting for them to pass through like a distorted gate further into the depths.

“Wouldn’t it be amusing if this bridge collapsed, killing the three of us before we can reach the cache? After everything.” Hawkins asks and he chuckles softly at the prospect.

“Then it would prove what I thought all along. That there is no true purpose to Skeleton Island, that it is just dirt and imaginings.” Silver replies because he’s ready for such a challenge. If this is it, so be it.

“That would be too easy.” Hawkins answers. “You and I know why this place brought you here.”

Did Silver know? He feels such a thing more than recognizes it.

“Flint’s cache.” Silver replies and he somehow knows that’s a lie. It was why they began this journey was it not?

He doesn’t grant him with an answer, they just wobble together on the narrow ancient bridge holding them above a precipice. The thick fog swallows Flint halfway across.

Hawkins suddenly halts once Flint has disappeared from their sight and Silver stops his crutch uneasily behind him.

“Watch your footing.” He says and steps out of the way of a large gap in the wood that could have claimed Silver’s crutch. He nods even though he hadn’t turned around to face him. There’s a strange disconnect to the air between them; a proverbial frayed edge.

They pass through the wall of fog and Silver can hardly make out the line of Hawkins’ shoulders inside it. They’re moving through another veil, a metaphorical entrance to a cave. His fingers have grown numb from gripping the crutch too tightly.

“Almost there!” Flint calls from ahead, from a place Silver can’t see. His voice echoes, bouncing across the slick rock. Hawkins glances back at him once and he catches a glimpse of a dark knowing expression.

He knew something they didn’t. For all his effort to appear accepting there was something else up his sleeve.

They make it to the other side of the chasm through the thick fog that now wrapped around the trees like the ghost of vines.

Silver catches Flint’s eye to ground himself and Flint nods at him, asking without speaking.

“Perhaps we should make camp before night finds us.” Silver says, keeping his eyes locked on Flint’s. They communicate through the shifting of their eyes and Hawkins doesn’t bother trying to decipher anything. He just meanders into the jungle nonchalant and comfortable.

Flint starts a fire just as the sun leaves them to the moonlight. Hawkins has found another tree to sleep under as if he knew to give them privacy.

“Is something bothering you?” Flint asks quietly before sitting beside him in the dirt by the fire.

Silver watches the flames create shapes for him, they had something to show him but it isn’t time yet, not time enough for a future to hope for. “It seems as though Hawkins knows where he’s going, that perhaps he’s indulging us.”

“I could see him exploring as much of this jungle as possible before we arrived to find the cache. It is possible he’s been this way before.” Flint replies as reassurance and Silver shakes his head, unable to take his eyes away from the fire. He didn’t want to peer into the darkness and wonder what he’ll find hidden there.

“Something…is off. He knows something.” Silver speaks softly and Flint sighs.

“Whatever it may be, we will be prepared.” Flint sounds unshakably confident that Silver finally meets his eyes in that darkness.

“I cannot do this without you.” Silver whispers words from the past once again repeated like echoes between them.

“Think of the future somewhere, this place left behind. What would you wish to do?” Flint asks and he has a warm smile for him. Silver returns it blurry eyed.

“My god, I have no idea.” Silver softly sighs and Flint hums a laugh. He reaches out and rests his hand on Flint’s thigh, the warmth between his fingers.

 “A garden. I always wanted a garden…even though I lack the skills to cultivate one.” Silver says lost in a dream.

“Miranda and I had a garden in Nassau. She could touch the soil and make things bloom. We can start one again and I could teach you.” Flint whispers as he entwines his fingers in Silver’s resting on his thigh.

Silver feels an uncomfortable lump growing in his throat and he manages, “I would like that very much.” Only Flint is gifted with his truths.

He wishes he could lose himself in Flint in this moment but they needed to keep their wits about them. They were nearing the end of this journey. It’s almost time.

\--

“John…” The voice is far away, above him, like a memory.  

He can hear the loud insects in the dead of night still buzzing and when he opens his eyes he sees the silhouette of Hawkins standing above him, the fire burnt out behind him. Silver sits up quickly and peers over to see Flint awake, on guard and glaring at Hawkins.

“What is it?” Silver asks, still blinking awake.

“Can I speak with you?” Hawkins asks and then promptly walks towards the tree on the other side of the camp. He eyes Flint who takes to cleaning his cutlass. Silver grips his crutch and pushes himself up from the dirt.

“I’ve accepted my fate,” Hawkins says when Silver approaches slowly and he stops his crutch in the mud.

“What do you-“ He begins and Hawkins holds up his hand to interrupt.

“Don’t insult me. From the first moment you arrived at my camp, I knew I was the final sacrifice.” Hawkins confesses and his eyes are clear dark pools in the shadow.

“Then why bother with the cache?” Silver questions and an invisible vise has gripped his chest; making it difficult to gather the humid air in his lungs.

“Do you still wish it destroyed?” Hawkins asks.

“Flint needs it intact.” Silver answers coldly and Hawkins picks up on the slight waver.

He shakes his head, “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“We are here to retrieve the cache.” Silver parrots like a puppet.

Hawkins smile appears vicious in the dark, his teeth presented like a wolf’s maw.

“You wish for the cache to be gone as if such a thing never existed. That was the original plan. The reason I gave you for allowing you into my camp. A lie, of course, but still.” Hawkins replies and Silver clenches his jaw.

“The cache doesn’t belong to me and it doesn’t belong to Flint, it belongs to someone else.” Silver dances around the question haphazardly.

“That cache belongs to no one, not even Spain,” Hawkins adds and looks out beyond Silver to the vastness before them. “Don’t let him twist you into another pointless war.”

“War, no war, it will not have anything to do with us any longer, we are here to retrieve it and that is it.” Silver continues but he is without conviction. It’s a hollow argument.

“Does it get tiring? Always giving him pieces of yourself, giving into his whims? Hawkins asks.

Silver’s expression darkens and he pivots his crutch to limp away.

Hawkins whispers harshly, “You won’t be able to stop him.”

Silver’s shoulders pull taut; rigid against his spine and he turns back to meet Hawkins eyes once again.

“My final gift to you, John, will be a realization. That no matter what he’s promised you or what path he’s manipulated you towards, your say, your words will go unheard.” Hawkins says eerily confident.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Silver snaps with that familiar dread induced confusion.

There’s a moment’s pause that Hawkins studies him openly with a resigned acceptance.

“This is all for you,” Hawkins confesses before disappearing into the brightening blue of the coming sun.

\--

The sun caresses Hawkins cheeks when it breaks free from the horizon and he closes his eyes to bask in it. He thinks he can hear a clock ticking but it may just be his heart. They were close now, weren’t they? He can feel the culmination from the heat of the new day.

He wishes that Silver could see he’s a wolf like him, meant to roam freely, unburdened by self-doubt but that will never be. There is no sense in daydreams of the sort, they only serve to cut. Is that what love is? The wish to be devoured? Hawkins has always been amused by things that hold a false sway over others but this is different. The feeling is there though, miraculously for the first time since he met that silent boy those years ago.

_‘Take my hand.’_ Jim had said in that memory.

The blue-eyed boy had taken his hand; cold fingers like ice between them.

_‘we’ll meet again won’t we?’_ He asked the silent boy. 

The silent boy had nodded with confidence because he knew as Jim knew that there was something beyond the sea that waited for them.

So, Jim had smiled.

He used to imagine what he’d say to him if they met again, where they would be in their respective lives, who had they loved, what would they have sacrificed? Instead, they met in the place beneath the world, under the veil.

There is no brightness to hold here. That is not what either of them are meant for. Too many men have tried to snatch the darkness away from him and if this is to be his end then it will be his choice.

That is more than Hawkins could possibly hope for from his madness.

They begin their trek again as the light is caught between the leaves and Hawkins listens to the crutch behind him like the ticking of a familiar clock again. He wonders if time has much meaning here, if he has just stood still while the world changed around him. Someone like him would soon be obsolete.

He follows the lion that led them out of the light and into the darkened canopy once more.

\--

“Not far now!” Flint calls from the front before heading back to the fog.

Silver feels like a pendulum with each step, teetering just on the edge for a moment before whisking away. He stops his crutch once they enter the clearing and he remembers traversing the thick tall grass. He had been so close to the cache once in that far away dreaded memory. He remembered finding some of the crew dead not far from here. Flint had bashed one of them in the head with a rock. None of them were any match for him. Silver knew that but he sent them onto that path anyway.

Hawkins turns back to glance at him, noticing his hesitance but makes no further note of it. Flint is headed for the opening of a cave cut into the rock.

He thinks of the snapping of twigs, of Dooley appearing behind him and then the firing of Flint’s pistol. The sound of him thudding into the grass.

He limps again, beyond Hawkins who is taking in the sights, perhaps forming his own memory and he heads through the tall grass towards that cave. The precipice, the divide, the chamber that houses the heart.

He reaches the entrance to the cave and Flint has his shovel untied from his pack, he isn’t looking at Silver, he’s avoiding his eyes.

“Dooley buried it here.” Silver states and Flint blinks at the soil for a moment before answering.

“Yes, he did.” He sticks his shovel into the dirt and begins to dig. Flint’s hair collects at his neck from the sweat and falls into his eyes.

Silver feels as though he could crawl out of his skin as if his battered body is merely a resting point he can escape out of.

“I was so angry with you.” Silver breathes and leans uncomfortably against his crutch.

Flint stops for a moment, wiping the sweat from his brow to catch his breath.

“We attempted to sever the connection between us and it nearly destroyed everything,” Flint replies before sticking his shovel back into the dirt once more as his features evolved into concern.

“Where is Hawkins?” He asks and Silver straightens looking to see he isn’t beside him.

“He was behind me..” Silver replies and steps from the entrance of the cave to peer out into the daylight of the open clearing.

“Jim!” Silver calls uselessly and there is no answer, he’s disappeared from view.

“Jesus Christ…it cannot be!” Flint shouts from inside the cave.

Silver limps back to the entrance to see Flint digging furiously in the soil. “The chest… I should have hit it by now, it should not have been buried this deep. It was here!” Flint yells.

“Hawkins isn’t in the field.” Silver whispers with quiet realization.

Flint looks up at him with that dark all-consuming rage filling his features. He snarls, “He has it! He has the fucking cache!”

It’s Silver’s turn to shout, “How the fuck is that possible?”

“This was his plan all along then? Get us out here in the woods? Tempt us falsely…” Flint snaps and throws his shovel against the rock wall.

“It doesn’t feel like a trap.” Silver adds uselessly because it didn’t. This is something else. He thinks Hawkins was being truthful when he said that this was ‘all for him’ but how?

Flint unsheathes his sword and grits, “He will tell me where that cache is or I will take his head!”

He pushes by Silver out of the cave and takes off into the field, crouched and tracking like a predator.

“James!” Silver calls because they needed to stick together. They could track him better this way but Flint’s rage has gotten in the way again. All he saw is that cache gone and the frenzy is enough to put him on the attack. How long had Hawkins had this planned?

Silver curses under his breath and begins to limp quickly through the drying mud towards the edge of the trees once more.

“HAWKINS!” Flint’s voice rings out in a fury from the wall of the jungle like an ominous church bell, sending the birds out of their safe hovels nestled in the branches.

Silver spots the indention of the small-footed boots that Hawkins wears and follows it carefully back into the foliage. Flint is chaos but always with a purpose, he thinks quick even in his rage but not of Silver, not of the future, just of that cache.

On his worried quickened pace through the trees, a dark thought reels up inside of him; spun tight like a newly formed knot.

The hope. The swarming consuming hope is a gift from Hawkins, he knows this now.

The betraying hope that they will never find that wretched cache.

A snapping of a twig and then the clinking of swords echo out from another frightened flock of birds dispersing from the trees. Silver releases a quick breath and pushes himself against the burn in his side to reach the noise.

This is it. He can feel it collapsing together to rest against his erratic heart. Them against the island, against what was taken from them here, what will never be recovered and the repeating of a deranged history.

The clinking of swords, so familiar and devastating that it opens him up, letting the muddy darkness in again. He’s drowning in it.

He steps out into a small clearing seeing Hawkins and Flint like figments of a mirage with their swords meeting in a frenzy. “Where is it?!” Flint barks with a forceful swing that cuts across Hawkins' shoulder and sends him to the ground.

Flint has him. None are a match for him.

He knew that this would just continue, they’d capture Hawkins and Flint would attempt to extract the location of the cache from him, then they’d be here again. Forever searching and that was Silver’s true nightmare; it was almost on the verge of coming true.

 “James.” He says loudly to distract him and Flint turns to look, the ferocity tamed for a splintered moment and it’s enough that Hawkins shimmies from the grass and bursts into the bushes, running into the darkness. Flint recognizes that Silver did that on purpose and has a shaky snarl for him as an answer.

Silver needed to be the one to find Hawkins, he needed to be the one to speak with him, to put an end to him but Flint wouldn’t see reason. Not now. Not with the cache missing.

“Let me handle this.” Silver speaks softly but resolutely.

“Did you have this planned with him?” Flint accuses coldly.

Silver’s expression collapses on his face, the sudden blatant mistrust flung at him so easily.

“How the fuck can you say that to me?” Silver whispers but his anger shakes apart his words.

“You never wanted to find the cache.” Flint snipes and he looks like a madman, his eyes alight, his hair a mess across his forehead and the sword pointed towards the trees.

“I did this for you! ALL OF IT!” Silver screams and feels as though the crutch may not be able to hold him upright. “I agreed to find that fucking cache for you!”

“Where is it?” Flint’s voice is low but the threat is false, behind those words lies a new pain blooming from the old. It’s the very same question that Silver had for him that shadowed time ago.

Somewhere Hawkins is laughing in his dark amusement, he can feel it, like the hairs on the back of his neck raising.

“I don’t have it.” Silver answers quietly drained, his anger is like a quick burst and taking with it any hopes that lie dormant within it.

“Where is it?” Flint repeats his questions turning to face him but without pointing the sword at him.

“It may surprise you since you still think so little of me but I had nothing to do with this. This was all Hawkins’ plan and it’s working.” Silver speaks plainly and Flint turns away from him with a growl. He slices the ferns to enter in after Hawkins once more.

This was supposed to be the road to _home_ but he couldn’t feel further from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter left after this! I'm going to miss writing it, I hope you guys enjoyed!
> 
> You can follow me on tumblr @brassfannibal for piratey things and updates. Thank you! :)


	23. Reorienting to the Daylight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In grief through healing, a goodbye.

_‘I'm Jim’_ the boy had said with his eyes reflecting the clouds.

He had held his hand in his, held it tight enough to crumble the bones inside. The boy didn't want to let go. Silver feels his hand still latched onto his after all these years and now he’s finally releasing it.

 

The trees sway in between distorted lakes of mist, they watch, observe and record the follies of man. The ticking crunch of John Silver’s crutch; Is it an echo from the past or is it the present? Have they conjoined?

He stumbles forward too lost in his own mind to realize the great chasm that opens up almost claiming him below. He teeters on a breath as rocks crumble and he peers down at the rapid flowing river. A creature releases a strange squawking call far off into the trees and he listens as it becomes further away. He feels like pieces of himself are crumbling off, being left behind each time he steps further into the abyss.

They were always meant to come back here.

He moves along the edge of the drop-off and thinks the world below looks brighter as if it existed beyond the veil; this hell. A snake slithers up out of the leaves beside his boot, it’s tongue whipping quickly out towards the ledge as if it recognizes the true divide.

He can sense Flint’s anger like an unstoppable force stalking the forest and the cogwheels have come to a standstill between the three of them. There is no going back.

The click of a pistol snaps him out his trance and he raises his head without turning to face it. He feels the tide receding again, pulling back to reveal the sand beneath.

“Jim.” He says softly.

The quiet sound of light-footed boots crunches behind him in the decaying brambles at their feet.

“John,” Hawkins repeats back.

Silver watches the sun caress the water below like a tear through parchment but the light can’t find them here, not under the veil.

“What is this _hell_?” Silver asks in an ominous whisper.

Hawkins doesn’t answer, he can feel him close behind, he’s waiting for him to face him. Silver rewards him by turning around slowly, gripping the top of his crutch, which is now covered in mud.

Hawkins coat is torn and blood is leaking from a new wound, staining part of his pale throat. His hair is wild, resting against his eyes which are filled with a vulnerability Silver has yet to see. He’s unable to tell if it’s feigned but it’s there all the same. He has a pistol pointed at John, his hand is steady.

“It is our abyss, John. The place we created in our minds that night those years ago. It twisted and grew as we grew. The darkness is all our own making.” Hawkins says with reverence. His eyes shine and he continues, “I am pleased that you got to see it.”

There’s a dark smile growing wider on Hawkins’ face that fades when Silver asks, “Where is the cache?”

“Does it matter anymore?” Hawkins steps closer, trapping Silver against the edge of the cliff.

“Tell me where it is, Jim, how did you find it?”

Hawkins hums a laugh, sliding his eyes across the gash in the landscape below before meeting Silver’s once more. He clears his throat as if he’s readying himself, “Well…I found it not long after I first arrived here with my father.”  

Silver squints at him, fidgeting slightly, his grip loosening on his crutch. It wasn’t what he was expecting.

Hawkins continues, “My father sent out search parties, I was in one of them and I went off alone, I found this little cave nestled amongst the rock and there unearthed from torrential rains was a corner of a cache visible beneath the dirt. I had Pew and one other man help me with it…what was his name?”

Hawkins rests the pistol casually against his lip in thought before pointing it at Silver again, “That’s right….Ben Gunn.”

Silver’s face falls immediately and Hawkins bites his bottom lip to stifle the wide grin that threatens his face. His thoughts tumble disordered into collapsing chaos. It was Ben who came to speak to him on Maroon island, it was Ben who told him about Billy, it was Ben who planted the idea of Flint being alive. He had sailed with Hawkins crew before this.

“I showed you the way, gave you purpose. The only reason why I convinced my father to take Ben on the crew was because he used to sail with the infamous Captain Flint and his pirate king John Silver. Ben Gunn saw what the cache did to Billy Bones, what it did to the two of you, what it did to your entire crew with whom he considered family and wanted to rid of it as much as I did. We became friends of a sort.” Hawkins admits, his fingers gripping the pistol loosely.

“Jesus Christ…” Silver releases and wobbles forward on his crutch.

“Look at what we’ve wrought together because of it,” Hawkins says with a rumbling laugh. They stand there in a strange off-kilter silence as Hawkins waits, flashing his teeth at him.

“Where did you hide the cache?” Silver asks because he needs something tangible to hold onto.

Hawkins closes his eyes and says, “In plain sight, for a time.”

“What did you do?” Silver challenges and he wants to know more than anything. He needs to know.

“I held your torment in the palm of my hand,” Hawkins says and lifts his empty scarred palm to Silver. “It may have been one of your tricks of reflection but it resembled mine as it did those years ago in the cold.”

“What did you do?” Silver demands gruffly but he’s on the brink. He could shatter but he somehow understood, deep down into his roots where that despair was first given voice.

“While you were recovering from the unfortunate bullet wound and Captain Flint was distracted, worry stricken with it….we took care of it.”

“How?! How did you take care of it?” Silver blinks rapidly, searching his eyes for those dark answers.

“It was a vigil, a pyre for that torment, those ghosts that clung to it. We put it in a rowboat and set fire to it, pushing it out to sea. I watched it burn and it gave me more happiness, more fulfillment then Smollett’s death offered me. The boat crumbled, and the sea took what was left.” Hawkins finishes and Silver feels the weight lift from his shoulders almost immediately upon hearing those words.

His first thought: _It’s gone. The cache is gone._

His second: _But Flint. How could he make Flint understand? He needed to make Flint understand._

“My god…” Silver whispers. He couldn’t quite find the proper words to articulate and he feels as though he could teeter off the ledge, let the wind take him below.

“I was surprised to see that Captain Flint did indeed live. I saw how you were with one another and I knew that dreams were not meant for someone like me. I accepted then that I was the final sacrifice. It became clear to me the choice I had to make. I could either kill Captain Flint and no doubt turn you against me, forcing my hand in the matter or I could let one of us, one of the boys from that nameless winter, find some peace. You saved me, John and I’m returning the favor.” Hawkins steps closer still, turning the pistol around to press it into his own chest and meeting the butt of it with Silver’s hands. It’s Silver who now held the pistol. They are close enough to breathe the same air and capture the reflection between the two mirrored images of what ifs.

“The island demands it, it is your passage home,” Hawkins says quietly and rests his hand on top of Silver’s pressed into the pistol. The end of it is snuggly over Hawkins’ heart.

Silver feels as if he stood finally at the center of the abyss, at the very bottom where no light can reach. He is with a tired old God that didn’t wish for dominion anymore but simple release and who was Silver to deny him that?

He watches that familiar dreaded smile for the final time. 

Hawkins’ hands grip the gun over his, trapping him to this decision. Silver’s eyes well with wetness and he catches a flash from the past, of Flint in front of him, waiting so patiently for Silver to pull the trigger. Flint wished for it too and he couldn’t deliver, but now, Silver had the purpose etched out in front of him.

“I remember that winter.” Silver confesses quick.

“I know.” Hawkins says with a nod, calmly accepting.

There is something new within those once dead eyes of Hawkins’, a spark of truth, a culminating peace.

“You were my beginning…. now, be my end, John.” Hawkins voice lilts and falls.

 _Be my end._ The final words repeat like whispers, bouncing around his skull and they will stay there, stuck to Silver long after this dreaded island. The similar words of Flint’s and Hawkins and his all melding together like a tapestry.

Silver releases another quick breath, stepping back, his palm shaking and Hawkins’ eyes closing.

\--

Flint stands against the dead vines draped over an ancient tree. His sword is sheathed and the anger has evolved into something akin to empathetic despair. He had heard everything. He had listened as Silver would have wanted him to.

His first thought had been to burst in between them like a mad king but that isn’t who he is anymore, he hasn’t been for some time. This is the place to release things, leave them behind, including the chains the darkness once provided for him.

The gunshot that rings out like a lament tore into him, creating a new wound as if the bullet had claimed him as well. There are no birds left to scare to the skies any longer, they had moved on as if they sensed the end. He could already feel the grief emanating from beyond the clearing where Silver now resides alone.

He begins to walk towards that darkened spot between the trees when he hears a loud unabashed sob of anguish, the last release of the torment. Silver is letting go.

He steps slowly between the bushes and sees Silver collapse onto the ground. Hawkins lie limply still in the dried grass. Flint can feel the suffocation that once choked the air, lifting all at once.

Silver turns to spot him, his face wet, his hair a mess, the crutch resting silently beside him. He’s searching for a tether, something to hold onto. He’s afraid that Flint won’t grant him that peace.

“John..” Flint says softly.

“The cache is gone…it’s gone.” Silver repeats three more times, his voice is ruined.

“I heard,” Flint replies and observes as Silver leans forward once, his hands shaking.

Silver’s anguish is a lost reverie, “I saw your face…you were asking me to fire the pistol.”

Flint immediately walks over to him and kneels onto the mud in front of him, reaching out once to touch him but pulling back. Silver looks up at him as tears cascade in streaks down his dirty cheeks.

“I don’t care….that it’s gone. I don’t care.” Silver releases in a breath, his entire body trembling, lost in the past and the present. The ghosts clinging to him like the very mud.

The strangeness of it was, was that after hearing for the first time from the muffled conversation that the cache was destroyed, it didn’t leave him with the sort of sorrow he had expected. He had almost felt relief and now seeing Silver in such a state, the thought of the cache seems like a dying idea. It had been dying for some time, he just didn’t want to realize it.

He envelopes Silver in his arms, to press his chest against his and feel the tender grief-stricken intake of breath against his neck. Silver’s fingers grip his back tightly, stretching the material of his torn shirt. He holds him for some time as he weeps into his skin absorbing his pain.

“I’m sorry..” Flint says, his tone ragged, exhausted. He wants him to understand that he means for everything, every _single_ thing. He didn’t know how to properly convey that, so he adds, “I love you.”

_I love you._

_I love **you**._

Repeating the words in a hoarse whisper against his temple in a kiss, to the top of his head and mud-caked curls. To the corner of his wet eyes. There is no world but theirs now.

It’s some time before they are able to collect themselves enough to stand and when they do Silver refuses any help from Flint. He observes him struggle with his crutch and face the sky once again. Flint peers over at Hawkins to see a strip of sunlight that’s been released from the leaves to rest on his form. He resembles a sleeping prince from a fable, waiting to be awakened.

“We should bring him back to camp and build him a pyre.” And it’s the last thing Silver speaks for a long while.

Flint wonders idly what they will tell Hawkins’ men and how they will take the news but Silver doesn’t seem concerned about it. They build a small campfire before walking the rope bridge. Silver stares into the flames with melancholy awareness before lying down beside it and slumber doesn’t find either of them that night.

The walk back is a dreamy haze, disconnected, and weary. They’re soldiers coming back from a hundred year war.

Hands greets them at camp with his usual glare, assessing the two of them, on the verge of reprimand but refraining when he notices Silver’s demeanor. Ben approaches them next, exchanging glances.

“Hawkins’ men were made aware after you left, Mr. Silver.” Ben relays and Flint observes in bewilderment. Hawkins had this planned, there would be no explanation or infighting. Hawkins’ men as devoted as they were, wished for only one thing: to honor his death.

Ben and Pew were sent off to retrieve his body, and the rest of the crew began building the pyre against the large jaw of the jungle.

\--

The island is silent now, like a tomb, not even the birds sing on this constricted mist filled day. The ghosts are silent, the veil has been lifted.

Silver feels detached from it, floating in the sea adrift, watching from another part of himself, above and below. His voice has been temporarily taken from him, his tongue refusing to form words. He is the silent boy again without a name.

He spots Flint giving orders to those carrying timber and a burgeoning warmth rests in the chamber of his heart. He cannot express the utter relief and love he felt when he realized that Flint had accepted the death of the cache.

Ben steps up beside him, his hair pulled back in a rope tie, the grief hidden behind his eyes.

“I’m sorry for the deception but I never wanted any harm to come to you or the Captain,” Ben confesses and Silver nods. He eyes him, noting the slump in his shoulders and the exhaustion within his dimmed eyes. It’s clear that Jim Hawkins and Ben Gunn had become close. How close? That history is lost to him. He lifts his hand and rests his palm on Ben’s shoulder for a moment to let him know he understood.

“Jim told me to tell you that he left a book for you in his tent.” Ben supplies and Silver presses his lips together, looking out towards the canopy where storm clouds evaporate before reaching their position.

He finds himself stepping into Hawkins darkened tent not long after. The warm glow it usually had has been snuffed out, for no lantern or candle stood burning. Silver reaches into a metal box of matches and lights one, setting it to the lantern and brightening the tent once more.  

He spots the book beside a teacup with some rum still resting inside it. Silver lifts it from the table and drinks the rest before glancing down at the small pink flowers painted on the porcelain.

They’re becoming obsolete, not just Hawkins, all of them. He saw that, he understood it. Civilization and its sweeping tide of change would soon swallow Skeleton Island as well. He runs his dirtied thumb across the painted flower, smudging it before letting it drop from his fingers. It smashes to pieces against a board of wood by the cot and he feels a small smile stretch his tired face. He grabs the muted red book and rests it in his jacket.

He’s never been good at ending things, nothing is ever given the complete sort of closure one hopes for. He can pretend he sees a long road but he isn’t sure what is true and what isn’t.

That night Pew lights the pyre and they all stand in silence as the flames claim Hawkins, sending him away into the wind, into the trees, into the sea. He will always be here in the soil, in the ancient canopy, within these ruins, within the very roots. He is this island until this island is no more.

Silver tries not think if that had been Flint, if he had fired the pistol and granted his wish the same as he did for Hawkins. If it were so, Silver thinks he would have climbed onto that pyre too, letting the fire claim them both, but he’s here, beside Silver.

The growing fire is reflected in Flint’s eyes. Flint who is breathing, alive, real. The war a distant dead idea, the cache but a myth.

Flint’s hand bumps his and Silver entwines their fingers.

_You’re here. I’m here._

\--

The journey back to the Erebus is shorter than Flint remembers as if the island is shrinking. It didn’t hold the reckoning menace any longer, the dread has evaporated. It is just a place of sand, soil and long dead skeletons. They’ve slain the heart of it and now as they stand, the crowd of them on the beach overlooking the silent ship in the bay, Flint feels nothing but the empty sort of gloom that comes with finality.

He watches as Silver rests on the shore alone with his crutch beside him and Flint gives Pew who now will lead Hawkins’ crew, the Erebus. The ship was theirs to do with as they please and although their goodbyes are brief, there is a newfound respect between them, forged from blood, from fire, from mud.

Flint would like to imagine a pirate ship still out there in that dark horizon somewhere. The Erebus, the hunter, unseen but alive; one last beast.

The rest of the crew, Dr. Livesey, Ben Gunn, Israel Hands all follow Flint and Silver back to the Hispaniola.

He watches with dejected amusement as Dr. Livesey attempts conversation with Silver who gifts the doctor with a smile. Flint thinks it’s a terribly sad thing not to be able to hear the soft cadence of Silver’s voice. He’s only been a few days without it and he already realized how quiet the world is. As if someone had taken all the color from the beach. He doesn’t ask him to speak, he’d never do that, he just waits.

They gather what they can and load it onto the ship, spending the better part of a day doing so. Silver wanders around camp like a specter; entombing his thoughts. He is a beautifully mournful silhouette at night and Flint captures the image in his mind: Silver’s shadow on the beach attracting the moon.

The next morning they board the Hispaniola and the quiet groan of the wood is beneath their feet. They stand on the quarterdeck and watch as the island, which is still covered in a transparent mist, begins to dissipate in front of them like fog on glass. Silver presses his shoulder against Flint’s, leaning their arms forward over the railing and the background noise of the crew shouting to one another is a bittersweet familiarity.

“You’ve always been enough,” Flint says and catches Silver’s softening expression when he turns to face him. “I’ve loved you through it all.”

Flint feels unburdened and sees no reason to hold back such confessions, he’s laid bare to Silver and always has been. Silver’s eyes are glistening and he moves in slowly to gently press his lips to Flint’s. The kiss doesn’t deepen, he doesn’t need it to, not yet. He lifts his hand to rest it on Silver’s jaw, his thumb brushing beneath Silver’s bottom lip. He can sense a question in Silver’s eyes when they pull back and he recognizes which one it is.

_‘Where are we going?’_

Flint answers the silent contemplative gaze, “Home.”

Silver smiles at him like he just gave him the sun.

\--

When the moon has burst through the clouds and given way to stars that blink at the dark sea, Flint and Silver stand comfortably quiet in the Captain’s cabin. Candles lit on either side of the room flicker with the rocking of the ship. Flint observes Silver struggle with removing his jacket, cringing from the ache of the bullet wound. Flint slips off his boots and pads over to him, resting his hands on his shoulders as if to ask: _can I? Will you let me help you?_

At first, Silver just stands there, the grip on his crutch tightening for a moment before he goes slack, giving him permission. They are both filthy, caked in mud. The grimy residue of the island is leftover on their skin. He slides his hands over his shoulders to Silver’s chest and lightly pulls the coat off. He sets it aside and Silver turns to face him, slowly unbuttoning his shirt as they blink at one another. The room fills with their very own sea of thoughts. Silver stands there devoid of his shirt with dirt across his collarbone and the dirty bandage wrapped around his side. He still has his eyes on Flint and the rise and fall of his chest is a calming cadence to mimic.

“May I change that?” Flint asks and motions to his bandage.

Silver says nothing nor does he nod but Flint understands he’s been given permission. They stand there a moment longer as if they are on the edge of something before Silver finally slumps down onto the cot to remove his boot and Flint retrieves a bowl of water.

He sets it on the cot against the wall and Silver removes the bandage with a wince, letting it fall to the floor. Flint soaks the cloth inside the bowl, ringing it tightly before lifting it to Silver’s side. He runs it softly over the ridged tear in his skin where the bullet had ripped through.

“I know that there was a history between you and Hawkins. I don’t know how deep it went and I don’t require that you tell me but I wanted you to know that I would never judge your grief.” Flint says and dips the cloth back into the bowl. “I understand it.”

Silver grabs the fresh bandages from between them and begins to wrap it around his ribs tightly. Flint doesn’t interrupt, he just observes him until he’s finished and wrings out the cloth once more. Although the tension emanating from Silver is taut, it is an archaic familiar silence.

Silver unties the dirty rope that’s holding his hair partially away from his face and lets his curls loose. He stares down at his toes, pressing them into the wood and disappearing within himself again.

“Look at me,” Flint speaks softly.

Silver turns to him, tired-eyed. Flint searches the deep blue of his eyes for any thought he can latch onto, any thought that he is willing to let loose. “We made it.” He continues and Silver nods.

Flint unbuttons his own shirt and slips it from his shoulders as Silver’s eyes quickly roam over the scar Singleton left on his abdomen. He reaches over tentatively and rests his hand over Flint’s that’s against the bed. The open tenderness of the moment clings to his heart like a new string, woven and spun between them.

They move together onto the cot, lying on their sides, facing each other.

“There is something I haven’t told you because I hadn’t seen reason in it yet until now but when you and I were separated I purchased a house beyond Kingston out on the bluffs away from travelers. There is much to be done to it, the roof is in need of repair but I think such a place could be feasible for now. That is where we are headed.” Flint admits and Silver studies his eyes for a moment before he reaches forward to rest his warm palm against his cheek.

They are dirty, battered, healing and they finally find sleep.

Silver doesn’t speak the next day or the day after that. He’s gone somewhere Flint is unable to reach him but he’s patient. He speaks to him in the galley about planting potatoes and how they’d have to improve Silver’s cooking skill. He speaks to him about waking up beside him with the sound of the sea to greet them outside of the windows. Flint talks more than he has ever talked to fill the silence because it still unnerves him and Silver listens with subtle amusement evident in his features.

Dr. Livesey attempts to ask Flint in that roundabout awkward way of his if Silver is all right and Flint had glared at him, frightening him before answering simply _‘he’s fine’_

_He will be fine._

As they grow nearer to Port Royal, Flint writes Madi a letter he plans to send immediately once they arrive and he knows she’ll understand about the cache. It really was never about the cache. He wanted it to be, he had needed it to be but in the end he only ever wanted Silver softly slumbering beside him.  

\--

Silver watches the dark water reflecting the moon, like a mirror resting beneath to somewhere crooked, a world behind a world.

He has felt the warmth begin to regain in his limbs after leaving that island as if his extremities had been frozen in place and needed to thaw. They’re beginning to feel less foreign to him, and each day is warmer than the last. He’s reorienting to the daylight.

Hands steps up beside him, silent but concerned, he can tell by the way his shoulders go rigid while looking out to the sea with him.

“That thing met its end as it should have long ago.” Hands continues and Silver isn’t sure if he’s speaking about the cache or Hawkins. Jim Hawkins. The name stings the way Muldoon’s still does. He’d never admit that but there it is. He isn’t sure what that means but he suspects it’s the gift that Hawkins succeeded in giving him; a new form of grief. Silver reaches out awkwardly patting Hands once on the shoulder which earns him a glare.

“I just want you to know I’ll be around but I won’t be yer errand boy.” Hands gruffly supplies and Silver smirks at him. They both know that’s a lie but Silver lets him have it.

The rest of the voyage to Port Royal is uneventful, not even a tempest dare disturb them. They have broken free from the island’s grasp and the sea afforded them with a new respect.

Silver doesn’t speak for the rest of the journey. He can’t find the will but even though his tongue is slack, his body is slowly waking. Flint thinks he’s disappearing but Silver is remerging after spending time as a ghost for so long.

\--

Port Royal looks smaller to Silver under the sunlight, there is no jungle in this city, no madness brought back from his youth to haunt him. It is just a city of people meandering from one place to the next.

After they dock they say their temporary goodbyes to the others and slip into a tandem on the journey towards a peace they’ve never known.

Flint finds them two horses and Silver refuses any help to mount the saddle. They take off into the dust and light. The hooves that gallop beneath feel altogether familiar and foreign. He’s reminded of the time they trotted into Nassau to take it back, of the chaos and destruction such a thing brought. He does not miss who he was then to who he is becoming now. They are in a constant state of evolution.

Flint leads them into a field that bursts forth onto the bluffs that awaited them. They were always meant to reside on the edge of a cliff; two pendulums.

The scenery is perfect in its unexplored vulnerability. The way the land stretches, twists and guides them ahead through sparse vegetation. Silver meets Flint at the top of the bluffs and he spots the small beige house resting nestled against the cliff overlooking the deep blue.

“Plenty of room to spar.” Flint suggests and even has a wink to match before he takes off on his horse towards the property. Silver feels a smile break out across his face at Flint’s endearing excitement.

They tie the horses to the rusted gate that frames the front of the property and Silver watches Flint walk the overgrown stone path towards the front door. His shirt billows in the wind, his red hair wild against the backdrop of that vast blue. He throws Silver a smile and beckons him forth.

It’s a cozy abode even with the damaged roof. Flint shows him the kitchen, the bedroom and Silver observes the way the light holds itself inside, banishing away the dark corners. They stand there in breathless silence as Flint runs his finger over the counter collecting dust. Silver can tell he’s afraid, afraid that Silver isn’t satisfied, that this isn’t enough.

“Is there a garden?” Silver speaks in a rough disused tone for the first time in weeks. All of him is released to the very boards of this house. He plants himself here.

Flint turns to him startled, his smile faltering but the warmth in his eyes remains. There is a blooming contentment in his chest. “There is a space for one, let me show you.” Flint offers, motioning for him to follow.

Outside beneath the sun with the distant crashing waves, he surveys a patch of soil with a small wooden fence around it. It rests at the back of the house overlooking the sea and Flint proudly points to it.

Silver grins and adds mockingly, “It’s the most majestic thing I’ve laid my eyes on.”

“Yes, not much now but it will be.” Flint insists and Silver quirks a brow, staring down at the soil waiting to be tilled.

He wonders how they will maintain an income, “You ever wanted to own a tavern?” Silver jests and Flint has a questionable squint to offer him. He thinks of the Spyglass Inn with its wooden sign creaking in the wind.

“Can’t say that I have,” Flint replies with ease. They are awkwardly fumbling in this new domesticity. It’s much like opening your eyes to the sun after having them shut for too long.

Silver presses his crutch absently in the dirt a few times before answering, “I could attempt to improve my cooking skills, maybe avoid swine for a time.”

Flint’s grin placates his curiosity, “I missed your voice.”

And the way Flint is warmly studying him causes Silver to lean back comfortably on his crutch, tapping his fingers over the wood. He peers back at him from beneath his eyelashes and Flint steps into his space, shadowing the sun. He tests the waters by kissing Silver quick on the lips, chaste and fleeting. Silver leans forward to chase after his lips when he attempts to pull back and Flint happily rewards him with his mouth again. The kiss is a content slow exploration of sliding tongues as Flint runs the back of his fingers softly up Silver’s throat over his adam’s apple and rests his thumb beneath his chin. The cliff's edge is ahead of them, framing them to this moment. He thinks he can hear the beginnings of a memory long ago, the clinking of swords, the shared breathing and the promise of the future that will never be realized. But this is a beginning, a new chapter freshly scrawled in ink.

Later, after they’ve spent a quiet length of time in the patch of dirt that is to be their garden, they end up on their rickety dusty bed discovering one another again. Only now, there are no deceptions, no doom, no island.

They are both devested of clothing, Silver has his thighs wrapped snuggly around Flint with his ankle pressing into his spine. His chest heaving as Flint thrusts gently into him, running his lips over Silver’s skin, creating goosebumps in his wake.

“Perhaps we should get a bird.” Silver tosses out breathlessly and Flint’s lips halt, his hips still as he lifts his head to look down at Silver brilliantly flushed. “What?”

“I could teach it some witticisms.” Silver ponders and the heated glare he receives only serves to add to his arousal.

“God no. You choose now to relay this?” Flint asks, his chest is a pretty pink and he’s still buried inside Silver.

“I’d give it an important name.”

“No.” Flint enunciates, the growing irritation apparent.

So, Silver rocks into him, immediately banishing the annoyance. He asks without speaking that he needs an extra bit of fury beneath his skin, to trap within those deep dark chambers of theirs. Flint answers with a grunt, opening his mouth over his shoulder and quickening his hips.

Silver feels all at once snapped together because of Flint’s skin, his eyes, his teeth, his tongue and the blatant unwavering adoration it all provokes within him.  It’s both too much and not enough. It has always been that way with Flint.

“I think I’d name it Captain Flint.” Silver shakily admits and there’s a moment of a silent dark challenge before the roughened thrusts that follow. He bares his neck, lifting his face upwards as he slowly parts his lips. He wishes in that moment for Flint to always lay claim to him, to press inside deep enough that he will never leave.

\--

It’s in the early morning hours before the sun graces the horizon that Silver sits up, his body aching pleasantly, his hair tumbling over his bare shoulders. Flint is still deep in slumber beside him and Silver watches the calming rise and fall of his chest before dressing himself. He steps outside, his crutch pressing into the soil easier here than it did on Skeleton Island. He limps towards the cliff’s edge and peers down below at the soft push and pull of the tide.

He didn’t think it had been possible once to end up here, out of the veil and into the dawn. He removes the dagger Muldoon gave him as a gift from his belt and runs his fingers over the initials. He imagines using this knife to chop tomatoes instead of slicing skin, he imagines using a shovel to plant a new assortment of vegetables instead of digging eternally for a long-lost cache. There are tears that burn behind his eyes, threatening to fall from such simple revelations. He recognizes that there may always be a purpose out there on the sea and he will not deny Flint that pleasure in the future but they have a resting point finally. It was more than he could possibly dream.

He allows himself to think of Jim Hawkins once again as a final goodbye. The man, the boy, the monster, the friend. He thinks he’ll always carry a part of him with him, etched like a burn beneath his skin to the bone. Silver reaches into his coat and removes the red book from inside. The book Hawkins left him: Hamlet. Which had been a subtle undercurrent of jest between them, for it was once Hawkins’ father’s book and it represented what the world surmised about Jim Hawkins himself but not what Silver had grown to reflect. He opens the cover and there scrawled in neat writing in ink is a message, a message he’s read over and over again on the voyage back from Skeleton Island:

_‘I lied. Yes, I know, not that surprising but I figured this is better than any perfumed parchment to write it on. I lied. I suppose that after you read this you won’t burn it, you’ll keep it with you for a time recklessly because that’s what I would do. If this were a gift from you I’d keep it next to my heart until the time came to release it._

_By now I am sure you know what it is I lied about. I didn’t destroy it._

_Right now, your eyes are frantically searching the page, most likely furious with me but I told you that story in the woods because I needed Flint to hear it. He was always listening and I was right, wasn’t I? I told you that I am not a reasonable sort but I am sentimental. Is it cruel? Maybe but I don’t care. I could have left this page blank in this wretched book but you’d always wonder, why didn’t I write something to you, why didn’t I fill the blank spaces? So here it is:_

_I lived and breathed next to your torment, it had become mine. I couldn’t destroy it, the same way I couldn’t destroy you. I placed my gloves inside its mouth and sealed the lid. Now, our darkness will always rest with one another. Perhaps, I am a little bitter and petty that certain sentiments can never be returned, will never be returned, because I suspect I’ve gone to the soil if you are reading this but if you ever feel like that peace you are yearning for is not enough: remember that our misery still exists beneath the veil._

_Your friend always,_

_J.H’_

Silver shuts the cover and runs his fingers over the dim red. When he first read this note, he hadn’t been angry, he was resigned to it. Deep down Silver felt it yet lived and that out of spite, out of Hawkins’ twisted love that he kept it alive on purpose. That cache, that chest, that box which might as well be a coffin. The dread of it still lies in those dark corners but there are no dark corners here. There is too much light. When he first stepped into that house behind him he felt nothing but warmth.

Silver releases the book over the cliffside and to the sea where it belongs. He watches the pages flutter in the wind and disappear into the night below. He mimics that dark smile of Jim’s like the mirror he is and lets it slowly fade from his features; the possession of him abating.

“John..” Flint’s voice calls from behind him and it banishes his ruminations. He doesn’t turn around to face him, he waits until he feels Flint’s arms wrap around him warmly, both of them standing on the precipice. “Where are you?” Flint asks quietly and presses a small kiss to his neck.

“I’m here.” Silver answers because he is. _He’s here. They’re here._

John Silver the king, the pirate, the quartermaster, the thief, the man, is here at the edge of the lighted world with his heart held out towards the sea by Poseidon himself; the dreaded Captain James Flint, undeniably his beginning and his end.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it's over... but at the same time, it's been so fun to write. Thank you to everyone who has enjoyed this story and went along on this journey with me! I may visit it again through timestamps or another adventure in this verse in the future. 
> 
> Let me know what you think <3 it would mean the world :) 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @brassfannibal if you like for future project updates!


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